These Violent Delights
by dorsata
Summary: When Sharma captures Maerad and Cadvan, it seems as though his dominion over Annar and the seven kingdoms will be complete. Trapped in Dagra, and trying desperately to outmaneuver him, Maerad and Cadvan must rely on their love of each other to protect them. But love may not be enough, and in Dagra, it might even be ruinous. The first in a projected trilogy.
1. Chapter 1

_Hi Everyone! Thanks for taking an interest in my story. Just a heads up, I've rated it as M for now but I think that might change in the future. Anyway, enjoy!_

* * *

_These violent delights have violent ends_

_And in their triumph die, like fire and powder _

Chapter One

"I'm sorry," Maerad whispered, and clutched Cadvan's hand in her own. He didn't move, she didn't think he would, but a small part of her had hoped he might wake up. "By the Light, I'm sorry."

Not far away, she heard the Hulls speaking softly to one and another in a twisted tongue only they seemed to know. One said something and the other chuckled. Maerad recoiled from the noise and shifted closer to Cadvan. The shackles that bound her hands together rattled and the Hulls paused in their talk to turn and look at her. She felt a shiver race down her spine at their attention, as if their gaze was enough to pierce her. When she remained silent for a few minutes, they went back to their conversation.

Now, with Cadvan incapacitated and bound and her powers bound up in her fear of herself, Maerad of Pellinor was no threat to any of them. After a while, one of the Hulls rose and approached her slowly. To Maerad, it was a horrible sight, something from nightmares, for the deathly looking thing was framed by the flickering fire and its eyes glowed bright yellow in a pale face. When it saw her expression, the Hull smiled too wide, revealing a mouth full of razor sharp teeth.

"What are you doing, little Bard?" the Hull asked in a sickly soft voice. "What mischief are you getting up to over here?"

Maerad lifted her chin, and didn't answer, though her hand in Cadvan's tightened. She willed him to wake. _Please, Cadvan, please. _

"Hoping he'll wake for you?" the Hull guessed, its eyes jerking down to Cadvan prostrate form. "No, he won't, not unless we tell him to. Even now he battles with us, but we keep his mind in check."

"Let him go," Maerad said in as firm a voice as she could. "Release him."

The Hull looked to her again, its head snapped loudly on its neck. "Why would I do that?"

"I swear, on the Light, I'll-"

"You'll do nothing, little Bard," the Hull hissed and suddenly lurched toward her. Maerad jerked back but the Hull was kneeling before her, still smiling, now it's bloated fleshy face inches from hers. It grabbed her by the hair and shoved her cheek against Cadvan's slowly rising and falling chest. "Beg for him to wake. Call his name and beg him to wake for you! See if he answers."

Mearad's mind was engulfed in pain at such proximity to a Hull and she cried out, trying to shake the thing off her.

"I said call him!" the Hull snarled. "Call him or I'll take a brand to his lifeless corpse!"

"Cadvan!" she cried out and beat the ground beside her with her fists. She hit the ground again and again, her fear and anger at her helplessness welling up inside her. "Cadvan, please wake up!" He didn't wake and Maerad trembled, wondering if the Hull would strike him anyway. In a broken sob, she said, "Please, Cadvan, please open your eyes."

"He won't," the Hull murmured, its breath rattling on her ear. "Even now, though he struggles against us, we hold him trapped in his dreams. Best to keep him locked in his own mind then free to wreak havoc."

Maerad sat up a little and looked down on his face. There were sweat droplets there, as if he were striving against an immense and immoveable weight. "He challenges you," she said through gritted teeth. "You are not enough to hold him."

The Hull didn't like this statement, this casual observance of its own weakness, and it struck her smarty across the face. "In the morning he will be awakened. He comes with us, little Bard, for the Master has a great interest in him."

Though she kept her face still, Maerad felt a petal of fear unfurl in her chest. She knew why the Nameless One wanted her, but Cadvan…He had proven himself a worthy adversary for most of the Nameless One's soldiers, taking him all the way back to Dagra seemed a long journey that would provide a gifted Bard such as himself ample opportunity to escape. Why risk it? She curled her fingers around Cadvan's shirt.

"What does he want with him?"

The Hull laughed. "Call it a _professional curiosity_."

Maerad glanced back down to Cadvan, and her stomach roiled in fear. "Let him go, and I'll go willingly to the Nameless One. You'll not hear another word from me the entire journey. I'll ride quickly, I won't struggle in the saddle. I'll even-even set up camp and-"

"But what if we enjoy the struggle?" the Hull asked, eyes twinkling. "It whets our appetites."

_Who could possibly begin to image what horrors await Cadvan in Dagra, _she thought. _Whatever curiosity the Nameless One has for Cadvan, it is certainly torment in his dungeons. _

"Then I'll struggle!" Maerad offered suddenly. "I'll do as you wish."

"That's no fun," the Hull hummed, taking pleasure in the sound of her voice tightening in fear. Her eyes had widened and reflected the fire light, and the Hull fancied it saw itself there, smirking down on her. It inhaled and the scent of desperation hung around her. If only its master had not forbidden them harming the girl and man…the Hull would have taken such delight in tormenting them both…making them watch the other be slowly torn apart. "Stop with your bargaining. He goes to the Master just as you, and since he must go in one piece, we shall have to keep him hurting himself in a struggle."

"I can keep him calm if you wake him," said Maerad. She realized now that above all else, she craved his company for the night. The idea of spending the dark hours with these creatures alone made her feel cold on inside, and she knew having Cadvan at her side, even if only to rest his hand on her back as she slept, would be a great comfort. "He won't do anything if I tell him."

The Hull rose up, obviously bored of the conversation. "I think not. I think he might fear for you, and in his desperation to protect you, might engage in some very unsuitable behaviors. He would force us to subdue him by less than _savory _means."

Maerad opened her mouth to plead again, but the Hull kicked dirt in her face, and she fell back, gagging on it. It returned to the fire, no doubt to mock her and her begging. She wiped the dirt away and sat beside Cadvan. Occasionally, she would tug on the chain holding her to a stake in the ground, but it only rattled forlornly, like a reminder that, yes, she was still trapped. It left a bitter taste in her mouth, that she might die chained like a slave. When these thoughts overcame her, she would look to Cadvan's prostrate form and remind herself that wasn't fair. Cadvan had been born a free man, lived a free man, never known such a miserable existence. He didn't deserve to die like that.

_But it doesn't seem like death is in the near future, does it? _A voice asked in the back of her head. _It sounds like days and nights of torture await you and Cadvan at the end of this road. _

Maerad shied away from the thought, but it remained like a shadow in the corner of her mind. She would try to remind herself that even though she and Cadvan were being taken to the Nameless One, hope was not entirely lost. If he had had no need of her, then the Hulls would have killed her, but they hadn't. Did that mean the Nameless One still had a use for her? Could she trade that for Cadvan's freedom? Maerad had already accepted that she would never be free again, but Cadvan…he wasn't part of the Song. Perhaps the Nameless One would release him if she promised to serve him.

_Serve the Nameless One? _she asked herself, thinking of the Hulls. _Would I allow myself to become a monster? _

She thought she would rather be dead.

_Ah, but it isn't your death on the line, is it?_ She looked down again. _No, it would be the deaths of the people you love. The Nameless One is no fool, and you, stupid girl that you are, have too many friends than it good for you_.

She considered the prospect for a moment, swearing to serve the Nameless One, turn against the Light, if it meant sparing her friends. Would she do it for Cadvan, or Silvia or Malgorn? Could she? At the very least, could she beg for a merciful and painless death?

_Stop this talk, _she ordered herself. _Stop when there is nothing you can do. _

It was little comfort, the feeling of helplessness, but it reinforced the notion that, for now at least, she could change little. Exhausted, Maerad slowly sank onto the ground beside Cadvan and placed her bound hands in one of his large ones. It was cold and clammy, and she grasped it tightly between hers, determined to offer him what little comfort she could.

_You will wake, and when you do, Cadvan will rise with you. Take heart in that, _Maerad told herself, and closed her eyes, listening to Cadvan's breathing in her ear.

* * *

_The desolate waste of the Hutmoors stretched out before Maerad, and as she searched for some clue, some hint that she had led them the aright. She prepared to call Hem. The air swirled around her and a voice was there, and Maerad's heart skipped a beat, for who else would reach out to her? It was the most beautiful voice she had ever heard, but it sounded tight with pain, like string pulled taught in harp. It was thin, almost like a wail, and made her cringe. She recoiled, confused, for this was not a voice she knew. _

No, no it is not an old friend, but perhaps a new one? _And Maeard knew then that this was the Nameless One, finally reaching out to her. When Maerad raised the defenses around her mind and prepared to call for Cadvan, the Nameless One softened his voice. _This world could be ours, Elednor. We could build this world anew, and you would be a glorious Queen of Creation_. _No need to call on Ardina, Queen in your own right.

_Maerad turned away from the voice as beautiful and tempting as it sounded. _Liar. You would say anything, show me anything, if it would give you your immortality.

_ The Nameless One laughed, and it was like needles on her spine. _I would do anything, if it meant I could rule this land unchallenged.

This is your answer?_ Maerad said, disgusted. _You're a monster.

No, Elednor_, said the Nameless One, and for some reason his voice seemed closer now, like a whisper in her ear. _You and your ilk simply lack imagination, lack the will to do what must be done. Your kind is weak_._

You're a murderer_, she answered simply. _You destroy all that is pure and good and true.

Be careful how you throw your curses around, as they might come back to you_, the Nameless One said in a soft voice. _Was it not you who murdered that poor Bard woman?_ Maerad gasped, appalled at the Nameless One's words. _And was it not your wise and gentle mentor, Cadvan, who murdered his lover?

That is different_, Maerad insisted, but the Nameless One was laughing. _It wasn't intentional! It wasn't as if either of us desired death-

Do not the ends justify the means? Do not your actions mean all the same to the dead?_ The Nameless One seemed to sense Maerad's wavering will. _You slaughtered the innocent. Snuffed out a life as easily as I do, and you thought nothing of it. You thought you were justified in your actions. She attacked you.

_ Maerad shook her head though the Nameless One certainly couldn't have seen it. Beside her, Cadvan was watching and frowned at her behavior. He should have been watching the horizon for Hulls, but Maerad's face had gone deathly pale, her body seemed to be shaking. He took her hand, but she didn't feel it._

It was a mistake! _Maerad insisted._

A mistake doesn't bring that Bard back, does it?

Stop! _Maerad cried out, but the Nameless One was relentless._

You think it was well done, then? You think the murder of the innocent was true?

_ Maerad had sunk into herself, hoping to find peace from his teasing voice, but it was in her mind now, setting her thoughts on fire. Cadvan had turned her to him, but she wasn't waking from her trance though he called her. _I do not think it was well done, and that is how I am different from you. I know what I did was wrong, I am horrified by it. But you, you revel in death.

_The Nameless One paused, considering her words. _You think you are innocent of the crime because it was not committed with malice?

It was an accident, _Maerad insisted, her sense of righteousness returning. She saw the thread of logic that vindicated her actions and grasped at it. _But you murder with intention. You feel the weight of your actions, and it destroys you. That is why you are a void of life, that is why you are a monster.

_For some reason, Maerad sensed that the Nameless One was pleased with her answer. His voice, when he spoke again, reminded her of a cat purring contently when a person pets its back. _So be it, Elednor, but I swear to you, that you too will feel the weight of your actions, and you too will have to reckon with the consequences of your choices. You will see that we are not so different, and, when the time comes to choose between what is just and what is right, you will be hard put to make that decision. _The Nameless One laughed then, and it was chilling. _Then, Elednor, we shall see.

_Maerad threw up her hands then, as if to ward off the Nameless One and he was gone. But when she came back to herself, back to the Hutmoors and Cadvan and her summoning of Hem, she beheld a horrible sight, for the Nameless One had sent Hulls. They had encircled her and Cadvan, and Cadvan had been too concerned with Maerad to notice. It had been a trap, as she debated the Nameless One, he had sprung. _

_She immediately went to join Cadvan, but it had been far too little, and far too late…_

* * *

Maerad jerked awake, gasping as she escaped the nightmare. Above her, the sun had begun to rise, but out on the Hutmoors, it was a steely grey, and offered no promise of warmth. She rolled over and pressed herself into the warm side of Cadvan, who was still asleep, and, as evidenced by the sweat on his face, trapped in the nightmares of the Hulls. She reached up and placed her palm on his cold cheek.

_By the Light, I'm sorry Cadvan, _she thought. _I should have been there. I should have helped. _

The sound of footsteps pulled Maerad from her thoughts and she looked up to see a Hull approaching her. Instinctively, she tightened her grip on Cadvan's hand. The Hull stood over the two of them, looking at her grasping at Cadvan and flashed its sharp teeth in a smile. It was unfair, this charge to bring the Bards back unharmed. The Hulls could have had such fun with them…lovers were always the most fun…they certainly cried the loudest.

"The sun is up, Little Bard, shouldn't you and your teacher be as well?"

Maerad raised her chin defiantly. "Free him from this spell."

The Hull raised an eyebrow at her imperious tone. "Perhaps we should just leave him like this all the way back to Dagra? Perhaps, then, when he wakes from his slumber, he'll have been driven to madness by his dreams?"

Maerad lunged at the Hull in a show of force. "Even the three of you don't have the strength to keep him bound."

The Hull snarled, unwilling to admit the truth of the statement. "Where's the fun in breaking him in his sleep? No, we'll let the Master handle him." The Hulls eyes moved from Maerad's eyes to Cadvan's restless face and he murmured something in the Speech of Den Raven. Cadvan jerked suddenly and gasped before his eyes fluttered open. "And good morning, Cadvan of Lirigon, we've been waiting for you to rise."

Cadvan's gaze snapped to attention and he instinctively tried to make a sign with his hands to cast the Hull back. When he realized his hands were bound, he narrowed his eyes. "A cowardly thing, but unsurprising."

"You ought to consider your words before you speak them so carelessly," the Hull responded, enjoying the sight of Cadvan bound at his feet. "Who knows where they might land you."

Before Cadvan could respond the Hull turned swiftly on its heels and went to join its companions. Cadvan made as if to move in its direction, but Maerad's hand on his arm and her voice in his ear startled him.

"Don't bother with them, it's not worth it," Maerad said softly.

"Maerad!" Cadvan gasped, the relief palpable in his voice. He took her hands in his, searching her face. "Maerad are you alright? The last thing I remember was you collapsing during the summoning and the Hulls and their wers coming upon us. I thought you might have died!" His dark blue eyes moved over her pale face, alighting on the bruise spreading across her cheek.

Maerad looked down, ashamed. "No, no, nothing like that. It was a trap, Cadvan. The Nameless One sensed me, he caught me and sent the Hulls for us. I should have managed to free myself but…" she petered off, unable to explain her inability to escape him. "But I couldn't escape him. When I came to, we were both bound, and the Hulls had trapped you in sleep."

He looked away, as if recalling something that left a bitter taste in his mouth. "I've had dark dreams of late." Cadvan shook himself a little, returning his attention to her. "How long have we been here? How close are to we Dagra?"

"I don't think we've moved," Maerad whispered. "I think it's only been a day since I spoke to Ardina."

"It feels much longer," Cadvan murmured and Maerad guessed whatever nightmares they kept Cadvan trapped in were long and painful. She squeezed his arm gently and he looked down at her hands on him. "They were sent to take you to the Nameless One, then?"

"Both of us," she amended.

Cadvan narrowed his eyes. _That doesn't sound promising. _ "You're sure? You are sure the Nameless One wants me-"

"Yes," Maerad said ruefully and looked at the Hulls who were gathering their possessions. "I asked-I asked them to free you in exchange for my obedience-"

"Maerad!" Cadvan hissed, personally startled by depth of her sacrifice.

"It didn't matter," she said helplessly. "They said you were to go to the Nameless One. That he wants to see you."

Cadvan caught her eye. "Don't ever trade your freedom for me," Cadvan said urgently. "Whatever else happens, I'm not worth it. If the opportunity should ever arise, you must escape, even without me."

Maerad's eyes widened. "I won't abandon you to the Dark."

"You are the One, Mearad, the only one who can stop Sharma." He saw her flinch inwardly and wondered what she was thinking. "My life isn't worth the countless that could be saved."

"It matters little now," said Maerad listlessly. "They're taking us to the Nameless One."

Cadvan cupped Maerad's cheeks in his hands and held her gaze. "It's a long road from here to there, and I have not given up hope yet. We will fight Maerad, even if we are taken to the dungeons of the Nameless One himself, we will fight."

Maerad trembled, thinking of the stories Cadvan had told her of the Nameless One's first rise to power. Would that be her fate? To spend the rest of her life in torment in the darkness of Dagra like the great queen Recabarra? Would she have to watch as the beautiful Schools of Annar were razed? Her friends enslaved? Or would her death be swift? Would the Nameless One end her life before she could cause him any more trouble?

Instinctively, she reached up and grasped Cadvan's wrists. Yes, she was afraid, even with Cadvan at her side, she was afraid. "What will happen to us? Will it be like when the Landrost held you captive?"

Cadvan frowned. "I think not," he said softly and was aware of the Hulls approaching. "Quickly, Maerad, there's not much time. But listen, do not give into fear, do not betray yourself to the Dark just yet. I'm here with you, don't forget that."

Maerad squeezed his wrists a little tighter. "We won't be separated."

"And what have we here?" asked the Hull, looking down on the two clinging to each other. "Two little lovers afraid to be parted?"

Cadvan looked up boldly. "You know nothing of love."

The Hull raised an eyebrow. "Love makes you weak, as you shall soon see. Our master has such plans for the both of you." That didn't sit well with Cadvan who shifted to place himself between Maerad and the Hull. The Hull noticed but seemed indifferent. "Come, no more time for rest. It's a long way to Dagra."

Cadvan glanced to where Darsor stood, tied to a tree. He had a thought that if he were on a horse, even without his sword, he might be able to cause enough of a distraction to the Hulls that Maerad might escape. However, the Hull saw his glance and guessed what must have been on his mind.

"No, no, Cadvan, do not think we are fool enough to give you a horse of your own lead," the Hull laughed. "We'll keep you both on a short leash." To the other Hull, it said, "Tie up the stallion."

"Darsor will get exhausted if we both ride him," Maerad said to no one in particular. She glanced at Keru who was pressed against Darsor.

The Hull twisted to look at her and Maerad saw an awful glint in the creature's eyes. "Two Bards, on two horses, both trying to run away? I think not. You'll ride one horse, and it'll be lashed to ours."

"There are two. Tie me to Keru, and Cadvan can take Darsor."

The Hull smirked and Maerad's stomach flipped as she watched it approach the two horses. Darsor pawed the ground and his nostrils flared, looking swiftly to Cadvan for some guidance. The Hull hissed when Darsor reared back and grabbed around him for the rope that bound Keru to the tree. Keru whinnied in terror to be so close to the Hull and Darsor snorted and jerked at the ropes binding him, desperate the reach the mare.

Maerad caught Keru's eyes and tried to calm her, and it was then, as Keru stared back at Maerad and took a few tentative steps toward the girl she had so loyally carried from Innail that the Hull drew its blade and drove it into Keru's throat. Maerad cried out as Keru collapsed to the ground screaming and kicking. Her eyes rolled, confusion then pain chasing each other across her face. She was still looking to Maerad for guidance, guidance to tell her how to be calm in the face of death, guidance to tell her how to die, but Maerad was in terror. Keru kicked helplessly while she bled, and the jerking went on for some time. Maerad lurched forward but Cadvan caught her and pulled her against him. She could hear him cursing at the Hull.

The Hull came stalking back, taking Maerad by the arm then. "_Now _there is one horse. And you will ride it, so saddle the beast." It tossed Maerad at Darsor, who was watching as Keru's blood soaked into the dirt. Maerad took a moment and leaned against Darsor's flank, shuddering.

_That was needless, _Darsor said, tossing his head back. _A cowardly and weak thing. _

_ Darsor, _Maerad said, running her fingers through his mane to calm herself as much as him. _Darsor I'm sorry, but I need you to be strong now for we must go with them._

Darsor caught her eye. _I will carry you, I will not make you share a saddle with these things. _He looked over to where Cadvan was now being inspected by a Hull. _Will my friend ride as well? I can carry you both; I don't not want him to ride with one of them._

_ Cadvan will come with us, _said Maerad and she began to saddle Darsor. _We'll all be together. _

She finished saddling Darsor and brought him over the Hull. She saw that Cadvan's wrists had remained bound, and that the Hull was resting a blade light under his chin. It gestured for her to mount, and she swung herself up into her saddle, watching the dagger at Cadvan's throat. Another Hull bound her hands to the saddle, tugging to check the chains. It had tied them so tight Maerad's wrists ached.

"Now, up in the saddle, Cadvan." The Hulls snickered while Cadvan shakily mounted Darsor. He sat behind Maerad, looking unimpressed with the Hull's plan for them both to ride.

"I can't balance on Darsor's back like a bear on a ball," he said plainly.

"Don't be an idiot," the Hull snapped and jerked its head.

Maerad furrowed her brow, but a moment later, Cadvan had brought his arms up and around her. She could feel his chest pressed up the length of her back, his elbows pressed into her waist, his breath tickling her neck. Cadvan for his part, felt better having Maerad safely in his arms than anywhere else.

"We'll keep a quick pace, so keep up," the Hull said to Cadvan as it bound the reins to his shackles. "If you fall, it'll be a nasty trip." Cadvan looked like he wanted to say something in return but the Hull mounted and jerked on the lead to move Darsor.

The Hulls kicked their horses into motion and Maerad twisted in the saddle to look back to Cadvan. Their eyes met and they tried to touch their minds, at the very least to take comfort from the contact. Maerad felt Cadvan's conscious like a balm on the fear roiling in her stomach, and Cadvan, freed from the nightmares that the Hulls made him watch, clung to Maerad as if she were the only good thing left in his life.

* * *

Hem sat upright in the middle of the night, nervous for some reason he couldn't quite place. It was though something were reaching out for him, and an image of a clawed hand hovering over his head came swiftly to his mind. He shook himself and the thought passed as quickly as it had come, but he was still unsettled. He glanced around the small caravan they were travelling in, and relaxed slightly when he saw Saliman in the bed beside him, sleeping soundly.

_But just barely, _Hem thought, recalling how close Saliman had come to death at the hands of the White Sickness. He continued to watch Saliman, as if the Bard might suddenly fall ill again, but his sleep went on uninhibited. Hem realized in that moment how deeply he loved the Bard, and how close he had come to losing what was arguably the only father he had ever known. _Push these dark thoughts away._

Hem rose and quietly crept into the kitchen area where Hekibel had made her own bed, tucked against the bench around the table. In her sleep she was just as lovely as in waking hours, and Hem wondered, not for the first time, what had brought her here in that moment and why she was not off somewhere with her own family.

There was fruit in the kitchen, apples and oranges, and Hem took an apple and slipped outside to sit on the bench and watch the stars. He found though, that the stars and moon were veiled by heavy clouds, and that world was dark and silent. A renewed sense of unease settled around him and he tried to push it down. They were alone, certainly, and nothing had followed them as they fled the sickness, but why this feeling of something stalking them? Hem wrapped his cloak tightly around him and waited for the sun to rise. It took some time, peeking over the horizon and then creeping up into the heavy clouds that still hung in the sky. The morning light, when it came, was dull and cold.

"How long have you been up, Hem?" It was Saliman, emerging from the caravan and shaking the last bit of sleep from himself. "I would have thought you'd been laid out after that healing."

Hem frowned. "I woke last night to a strange feeling and couldn't sleep. I think something is amiss."

Saliman raised his eyebrows and sat down beside Hem. "How do you mean, Hem? Where?"

"I don't know," said Hem ruefully. "It was as if something was reaching out for me. Trying to take hold of me."

"Could it be your Edilhu sense?"

"This was different," said Hem. "There was malice, a cruel will."

Saliman considered his words for a time in silence, then said, "I think it is high time we found your sister. This seems like the work of the Dark to me, and I don't like the idea of us wandering about, waiting to be attacked."

Hem brightened at the idea of finding Maerad. "But she could be anywhere in all of Annar."

"I think first we'll go to Innail," said Saliman. "Your sister was fond of that School, and she still has friends there who will protect her."

Hem nodded. "Once we're together, perhaps we can make sense of this feeling."

Saliman rose unsteadily, still a little weary after the Sickness. "I'll wake Hekibel and see if we can't get a fast breakfast and then move on."

Hem continued to sit outside, watching the sky and wondering if Maerad really was waiting for him and how she would be when he found her. Hem fiercely missed his sister and longed for her guidance. Since his escape from Den Raven with the tuning fork, he felt a renewed sense of urgency to reunite with her, but the going had been slow. More than anything, he missed being around her, missed her calming presence, the way she would hold him in a hug and ruffle his hair or smile across the room at him.

Saliman returned not long later with a plate of fried eggs, and, naturally, they were then joined by Irc. He stole bits of food from Hem's plate while he spoke to Saliman about their path. Midway through their conversation, though, Hem was again struck by the feeling that something was creeping up on them. He stood up, looking over the plains.

"Do you think something is there?" he asked Saliman, who had cast out his hearing.

"I don't sense anything but I have no love of this place," Saliman agreed. "We should leave as soon as we can. I'll get the horses."

They managed to break their camp fast and set off at a good pace, but Hem couldn't take his eyes off the land around him. Something was stalking them, he just didn't know what.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

"Faster, rat," the Hull spit, and jerked on Darsor's lead. It was a strong enough tug that Cadvan lurched forward, pressing Maerad into the pommel of the saddle. Darson reared back slightly, snorting in anger.

_I hate these things, _he said to them both, tossing his head, eyes flashing in the direction of the Hulls . _I swear, I shall crush one under my hooves if it gets close enough!_

Maerad smiled despite herself and kissed Darsor's neck. _You're so brave, my sweet, and so strong. Three days, three days and you haven't quit._

Darsor snorted disparagingly and said, _I won't let you ride with those things._

Maerad straightened up, leaning back against Cadvan's chest. He was slouched in the saddle, so his head hung and rested on her shoulder, occasionally bumping Maerad. _And you, Cadvan, are you alright? _

Cadvan sighed, giving himself a little shake and straightened up. Of course, he wasn't alright! Of course, he was miserable and frightened and in pain! But that seemed of little consequence now and he tightened his grip on Maerad's waist. _As well as can be expected, Maerad. Don't worry overmuch about me._

His words belied his strain, and Maerad, so closely in contact with his thoughts, sensed his exhaustion. _There's nothing else for me to do, _she said pointedly.

_ You could try and escape, _he suggested eyeing his own bonds. Between the ropes holding his wrists together the constant assault of the Hull's Dark magic, Cadvan didn't think he stood much chance at escape. But Maerad was different. She could call on her powers, she could flee given the right circumstances.

_And leave you to torment in the dungeons of Dagra? I think not. _Maerad's voice was firm, her mind made up. She knew, even if she could escape, that leaving Cadvan behind was a death sentence for him, and she wouldn't bear that weight.

_I survived the Landrost, _he pointed out, but in truth, Cadvan was glad to hear that Maerad didn't want to abandon him. He thought that, if she were gone, the Hulls would have little reason to keep him alive. True, they had said that that Nameless One wanted him for his own reasons, but he suspected that his fate was inexorably bound to Maerad, and, if she were gone, he knew he would die a very painful death. _And, if you're being even remotely honest with yourself, the knowledge that Maerad wants to stay with you makes your heart lighter._

Maerad shifted in the saddle to try and catch his eye. _I'm not having this argument. We go together. _

Cadvan was about to reply when the Hull leading them, bored from the day's travel gave another tug on the lead. Darsor dug his hooves in, nostrils flaring in anger. The motion jerked Cadvan forward again, and this time he slid sideways out of the saddle. As he went down, Maerad gave a cry and threw herself the other way to stop him falling out of the saddle.

The Hulls were unforgiving.

"Idiot Bards," one Hull cursed and turned about to watch them struggle. It trotted back toward them while Cadvan managed to settle himself back in the saddle. "Can you not keep yourself still? Trying to escape?"

Maerad saw that instead of drawing back, Cadvan merely lifted his chin boldly, straightening up to face the creature. _By the Light, Cadvan, be careful, _she thought privately.

The Hull took his shirt in a firm grasp, examining Cadvan closely. A brief image flitted across Maerad's mind of Keru and her needless death. The Hull's hand snapped across his face and it bared its teeth in a snarl. "You've some nerve, Cadvan, to sit so high and mighty. If you weren't destined for more in Dagra, I'd break you here and now."

"I didn't realize I was such an inconvenience," said Cadvan sardonically. "Pity your master wants me alive."

"Make your jokes, Cadvan, for you will wish we had killed you here rather than suffer the vengeance of our master."

_Probably true, _Cadvan thought, watching the Hull remove a knife from its cloak. He eyed the knife blandly, determined not to betray fear. "If I really am to go before the Nameless One, then this means nothing."

"As it should, for I would need time with you, days and nights of time to break you. This is simply a reminder to mind yourself." The Hull drew close to Darsor, who took a few skittering steps to the side.

Cadvan narrowed his gaze but the Hull didn't notice. It bent in the saddle, grasped his ankle in a vice like grip, and removed the boot from Cadvan's foot. Though he kept his face devoid of emotion, Cadvan felt his stomach twist tightly. Feet were quite sensitive generally, and having it bared so open to the Hull made him nervous. His toes twitched when the Hull ran the tip of a blade along the arch of his foot.

"Sensitive?" the Hull laughed, then angled the blade so its tip was pointed to the heel. "This is will be fast, have no fear."

Cadvan clamped his teeth down, ready for whatever the Hull had planned, and though he intended to remain silent, when the Hull drew the blade across the arch of his foot, slicing sinew and muscle, he gasped. A strange sensation raced up his leg, a burning that wouldn't dull, and he saw his blood pooling in the dust. When he tested his toes, they barely moved in response.

"Can't have you running away on us, can we?" the Hull asked. "Perhaps, hobbled as you are now, you'll stay put in the saddle."

Maerad, who had watched the entire thing with mixed horror and fury, felt words bubbling up before she could stop herself. "And what good does that do?" she demanded, while Cadvan stared at his bleeding foot. "How does this help anything?"

"Keep quiet!" snapped the Hull, looking Cadvan over. He was shaking a little, still breathing sharply as the pain radiated up his leg, "I doubt he'll go anywhere on that leg."

Though Cadvan privately agreed, he refused to admit it to the Hull. "Let us hope your master didn't want me to _walk _anywhere in his service."

The Hull's lip curled but it said nothing else before riding away. Maerad touched Cadvan's mind. _Do you think you can you walk at all?_

Cadvan glanced down to his booted foot where blood was slowly staining the leather. _If I absolutely had to, I could walk, but certainly not run. _Sensing Maerad's despair, Cadvan managed to brush his fingers against her wrist and said with forced lightness, _Have no fear. When we escape, it will be riding Darsor._

Maerad relaxed back against him and tried to convince herself she was somewhere else with him. As they Hulls spurred their horses on, Maerad had an image in her mind of being dragged across Annar to the desolate lands of Den Raven, and she cringed against Cadvan. Whatever torments lay at the end of this road, she realized his being there made her braver. Not because she thought he could protect her. He couldn't. Because he needed her to be strong, and when someone else relied on you, then you had no choice.

_I'll protect you, _she told him gently.

* * *

They were moving swiftly, the caravan swaying back and forth in a comforting motion, but Hem wouldn't rest. He sat outside the caravan, riding along whoever was directing horses. When it was Saliman, they sat together and spoke softly of finding Maerad, of his Knowing, and of the Song that would be remade. When it was Hekibel, she would tell him charming stories of her life as a traveling player. Hem listened, though only half, and we would often lose track of her stories and merely nod his head. Hekibel knew this, but it didn't offend her, for she guessed that whatever was occupying his thoughts was far more important than her childhood. They were making good progress north, and that seemed all that mattered.

As it was, Hem was listening. Not to anything in particular, but for some sound that might tell him where Maerad was. He had got to thinking that if the Song was broken silence would linger between it and its other half. Perhaps, if Maerad had the other half of the Song, when the two reunited they would hear the music. He would strain his Hearing for hours on end, hoping that somewhere in the world was the other half of the song, calling out.

On the third night of their riding, Saliman was sitting over the fire, making stew. "We're not far from Innail now. Perhaps ten days, maybe eleven."

"More than a week?" Hem sounded surprised.

"If we were riding horses and not towing caravan, then yes, perhaps a week would get us there." Saliman glanced at the horses who were browsing for food in the low grass. "But soon Hem. Have you had any sense of your sister?"

Hem frowned. "None, though I don't think that's necessarily a bad sign. I do not think she is dead."

Hekibel studied Hem a moment. "But do you feel her closer to us?"

"Not really." Hem shifted uncomfortably. "I've been trying to listen for the Song. I thought it might lead me to her. But still I hear nothing."

Saliman nodded. "These are powers I know nothing of and so I cannot advise in any particular course. I still think we are best served by going to Innail, but if your Knowing says otherwise…"

Hem shook himself. "I still think we are best to go to Innail, but I wish all the same we were moving faster. There's something here, there's something I don't like."

"It's a desolate land," agreed Hekibel. "But I don't think we have much a choice."

"It feels like someone is watching us," said Hem and Saliman's eyes widened.

"I hear nothing," he said slowly, "but that does not mean you're wrong. What does it feel like? Does it have Darkness about it?"

Hem looked out again into the setting sun, but the sensation had left him almost as soon as it had come. "I don't know. But it felt intrusive…like-like someone spying, not someone watching. Does that make sense at all?"

Saliman nodded. "And I like it not at all. But we can't move through the night, not while the horses need rest."

"We should keep watch in shifts all the same," said Hekibel. "Though I haven't the hearing you two have, perhaps I can keep watch in the early hours of evening while you rest."

"I certainly wouldn't mind a rest," said Saliman lightly as he finished his stew. "Wake me then, after a few hours, and we'll leave this place before the sun rises, yes?"

"We have a long ten days before us," said Hem, thinking of the road to Innail.

"But a reward at the end, I'm sure," Saliman said with forced cheer, and then wrapped himself in his cloak and returned to the caravan to sleep.

Hem sat with Hekibel a time, helping her clean the site but the oppressive feeling of being watched hadn't gone. After a while, he merely stopped and watched Hekibel as she moved about. She hummed softly under her breath as she went, an old tune about a wild, half-fey woman who fell in love with a mortal man and gave up her wild magic to be with him. She was aware of Hem watching, and her heart went out to the poor, troubled boy. She sang louder, hoping her voice, if nothing else calmed him. Hem leaned forward, watching her move and reveling in the sound of her gentle voice; it was a balm on his nervousness. For the finale, she tossed her head back, letting her voice ring out around the camp site.

Hem let the final notes ring out and applauded. Hekibel turned, smiled and bobbed a curtesy. Their eyes met and, in that moment,, Hem realized that Hekibel was infinitely more loving and knowledgeable of his fears and doubts than she let on. He wanted her here, he wanted her with them.

Hekibel opened her mouth to tell Hem that he needn't worry and that they would find his sister soon, and she wouldn't stop until they were all reunited, and that was why neither of them were prepared when the wers attacked.

* * *

When the Hulls called a stop, Darsor gave a defeated whinny and Maerad rubbed his neck. They had pushed a merciless pace, even for Darsor and the stallion was exhausted. Since the Hull had effectively hobbled Cadvan, they had gone at a full gallop, and while the Hulls had little care for the poor beasts that carried them, Maerad and Cadvan sensed Darsor's flagging strength. They had gone four more days, running for hours at a time only to stop briefly for the horses to drink then moving on again; they didn't stop till the last rays of light grazed the horizon and began again when the sky turned an inky blue that preceded dawn. Though he was strong and capable, Maerad suspected Darsor couldn't maintain his stamina forever.

_I'm so sorry, my sweet, _Maerad said to Darsor, leaning forward and kissing the side of his face. _I think we must almost be there; it'll be over soon._

Darsor's mouth hung open, his breathing heavy. _I'll carry you both, have no fear._

His stubborn courage made Maerad's mouth twitch. _You are surely a god among horses, Darsor, and true and loyal friend. _

Cadvan, who was resting behind Maerad stirred and lifted his head up looking about wearily. The last few days had been difficult for him. Though he hadn't lost much blood, his sliced foot continually ached and the odd movement aggravated his leg. At night, he preferred to stay awake and watch the Hulls, so during the day he bent over in saddle, head bowed against Maerad and would succumb to troubled sleep. More than anything, as they rode closer to Dagra, he felt an oppressive power that would occasionally graze his thoughts, and it left him sick in his heart.

"Where are we now?" he wondered, looking about. Before them stretched nothing but barren waste and dust. "Close to Dagra I suppose?"

"The Hulls seem pleased at the distance we've come," Maerad observed, glancing over at them. "Perhaps only a few days now?"

Cadvan cursed. "If we enter Dagra, I do not think we will leave it."

Maerad turned away "There is no other choice. And don't say that."

"You could still try and run," Cadvan pushed, though he knew Maerad's response. "I could create a distraction and surely there is some strength left in you to run."

"We've had this argument enough times over." Maerad frowned at Cadvan and he turned his face away from her. "If I go I suspect your life is forfeit and that is not something I intend to do. I'm not sacrificing you for-"

"For the Light," Cadvan insisted. "This is the Light and all the Schools and all the Bards."

"And where would I run, Cadvan?" Maerad countered. "Darsor is in no condition to run me back to safety even if I could get free. No, running would only cause you more pain, for they would catch me and bring me back and hurt you as a lesson to me."

Cadvan sighed as one of the Hulls came to loosen their bonds to the saddle. Maerad slid down tiredly, but Cadvan, whose foot could not support his weight crumpled forward and was only stopped from completely crashing to the ground by Darsor, who Cadvan fetched up against.

"Bowing to me won't spare you now," the Hull sneered. "We're two days out of Dagra."

Both Maerad and Cadvan had since given up speaking to the Hulls, preferring to merely hear their curses and abuses and sit quietly. Maerad allowed the Hull to bind her hands to a stake driven into the ground passively and waited patiently until one of the Hulls offered them a hunk of bread and a bowl of soup to share. Maerad thought that the Hulls were purposefully feeding them little to keep them weak.

_The joke is on them, because I spent most my life starving, _she thought grimly, nibbling the bread. _At least that's one victory. _

Cadvan had grown to hate night far more than Maerad, and longed to be on Darsor, even if it meant being in pain. At night, if he slept at all, he had awful nightmares that haunted him during the day. He saw the beautiful Schools he loved so dearly, razed, and his friends slaughtered or enslaved. He didn't understand if what they showed him was the future, or merely a compilation of his memories, bent to serve their purposes. He noticed that in none of his dreams did he ever see the Nameless One, and he hoped this meant that what they showed him was really just drawn from his own memories, not a glimpse into the planned future of Annar and the seven kingdoms. But even that glimmer of hope didn't push away the visions of a burnt and desolate world.

That night, though, one of the Hulls approached them and watched while they finished their meal. Cadvan lifted his chin, insolent as ever, but the Hull seemed uninterested. "We are now come within the reach our master. You can feel his presence, no?"

_So that was the oppressive force, _Cadvan thought.

"What of it?" he asked.

"We no longer have need of nightmares and dreams to subdue you. Sleep as you wish, for shortly you will kneel before our master."

Maerad's breath hissed through her teeth but Cadvan merely raised an eyebrow in silent defiance. When the Hull passed away, Maerad reached out and clutched Cadvan's hand in her own. "What do we do when we go before him?"

Cadvan looked down at their hands entwined and felt his regret mingling with his shame. He had been charged with keeping her safe and here they were, so close to the hands of the Nameless One that the Hulls didn't even bother to spell them. They were already lost.

"I'll protect you as best I can," he finally said. "Though, forgive me, but I do not think I will have the strength to defeat the Nameless One."

In the fading light Maerad scrutinized Cadvan's face. He was gaunt, lines of exhaustion of dull fear etched in his face. "I don't expect you to, nor would I ask it of you. I meant that certainly he will ask me for the Song, and certainly he will threaten to harm you should I refuse him."

"That doesn't matter," said Cadvan. "My life isn't worth the sacrifice."

"He'll hurt you," she said blankly.

"He'll hurt you," returned Cadvan simply. "I think we may need to accept that our fate isn't going to be a pleasant one. I do not think there will be a return from this darkness."

Maerad bowed her head so Cadvan couldn't see the look on her face. "I fear what will become of us. Will it be like the songs, Cadvan? The tragic tales we used to sing together of brave men and women who died such terrible and lonely deaths?"

"I would think so," Cadvan said gently.

"Cadvan what if I can't withstand him? What if he breaks me?"

Cadvan clutched her hand tighter. "There is no shame in this. No matter what I have called you, no matter how great your powers, no matter how many times you have proven yourself, you are still just a woman-and he is far worse than any man. No one would judge you if you fell."

Maerad thought this over a while as the sun finally sank and the last light left the sky. After a time, she said, "What do you think will happen to us? What will he do?"

"It does not do to dwell on these thoughts," he said evasively, looking away from her searching gaze. "If you must face the Nameless One, I would have you go before him as fearless as you may."

"The Landrost held you captive for a time. You must have some idea. I only wish to be prepared for what must come."

Cadvan frowned at her, clearly uncomfortable. He didn't want to scare her. Maerad took his chin in her hand and turned his face back to her. "I'm not afraid, but I need to know. After all this time, I thought you might treat me like an adult, not a child."

Cadvan closed his eyes as if momentarily pained. "I think the Nameless One will want revenge for what we tried to do, and I think he will be far worse than the Landrost. I think there will be blood and pain, I think there will be days and nights of torment, because he will not want us dead so soon. I think he will seek to break us through torture, and I would be remiss if I didn't warn you that he might." Cadvan didn't mention his own private fears of what that torture might entail, how vulnerable Maerad was, and how the Nameless One's desire to keep them both alive was forbidding enough.

Maerad digested this news slowly as pit opened up somewhere near her stomach. Cadvan was right: days and night, weeks and months, _years _of torment. It would be worse than Gilman's cot, it would be worse than Arkan; it would be the rest of her life and it would be in darkness.

Reflexively, almost childishly, she moved toward Cadvan and he drew under one of his arms protectively. "I suppose this is the risk of being the Chosen One. I knew this could have been my fate. But you, Cadvan, this wasn't meant for you."

In a very intimate gesture, Cadvan kissed Maerad's forehead and then rested his cheek on the top of her head. Maerad could feel Cadvan's body up and down her, feel his heart beating in his chest, feel heat radiate off him and she sank against him. He was safe.

"I think that my fate-whatever it is-is tied to yours. I found you, I brought you out of the mountains, I have been your sole teacher for months, and you have been a very dear friend to me, Maerad. I see now that wherever your fate leads you, mine would be the same."

"Then I'm sorry I brought you to this," Maerad murmured, hardly understanding the depth of Cadvan's words. "I wish it would have ended differently for us. I wish this Darkness would have passed and we could have travelled through the Seven Kingdoms, staying at inns, visiting schools, _true _travelling minstrels."

Cadvan ran his hand over Maerad's hair, trying to sooth her. "We'll stay together. No matter what happens we won't be parted."

Maerad and Cadvan remained that way long into the night, wrapped around each other, taking what little comfort there was from a familiar touch and dreading the coming days when they would go to Dagra. They were both trying to make sense of their lives, trying to understand how something that had started with such good intentions could have turned so bad. How their road could have taken them here? How could they have failed so miserably?

As the night stretched on Maerad stirred and sat up a little straighter. "I've had a thought, Cadvan."

"Yes?" he asked in a muffled voice, reluctant to let her go at all.

"The Nameless One has me, and he has the Song, but not the music and not my brother." She glanced up at him with the smallest smile. "As long as Hem is free, he hasn't won. He'll need us both I think, and Hem could be anywhere with Saliman."

"It's a small hope," Cadvan said slowly, "but it is hope."

Maerad rested against Cadvan again, feeling as though a little weight had been lifted from her. "As long as Hem is free there is hope."

* * *

Hekibel's scream woke Saliman from his light sleep. He started, only momentarily confused, before rolling out of bed, grabbing his sword as he went. Saliman kicked open the door to the caravan and jumped down; the moment his feet touched the ground he was glowing with white light. He heard Hem curse and darted around the front of the caravan. Madness had ensued in the camp site: the two horses were loose and running in circles around the site, tossing their heads and calling out into the night, the fire had escaped it pit and was licking at baskets and blankets left out, the remnants of their dinner were strew about, and, in the middle of it all, Hem and Hekibel were furiously trying to ward off a pack of wers.

Hem had his sword in one hand, a dancing white flame in the other. Hekibel was holding a knife and a burning branch, and when one wer darted at her, she struck it in the face with the fire. As Saliman looked on, the largest of the wers dove at Hem, who threw up his hand and a burst of White Fire radiated outward, creating a blazing shield that repelled the wer. The creature hit the ground with a loud thump, and it rolled over itself, snarling. When it got back up, its eyes were focused entirely on Hem.

Saliman didn't waste another moment. He rushed into the fray, throwing up his hands and White Flame crashed over the nearest wer like a wave. It fell back, the flames licking its body, and it tried to put them out by rolling in the dirt, but to no avail as the White flames consumed its body and it burned to death and its screeching howls echoed in the night.

"Saliman!" Hem cried as he emerged from the dark. "They're everywhere, I don't know how many, but they keep coming!"

"Fifteen, perhaps twenty," said Saliman. "We can throw them off I think so long as this is it."

Hekibel looked hard at Saliman. "And do you think this is it?"

Before Saliman could answer, another wer dove at them and he threw up his blade, piercing it threw the chest. It shriveled on the point of his sword and died instantly. "I don't know. Wers aren't uncommon, but I thought we moved quietly enough that no one would notice us. This doesn't seem right."

"They were sent?" Hem wondered, and then dodged the blow of another, twisted, and jabbed his sword forward. "Does someone know who we are?"

Before Saliman could answer, another voice carried to them on the night wind. It was oddly soft to be heard over the cries of the wers, and it seemed as though someone had whispered it directly into their ears rather than across a battlefield. "Does someone, indeed?"

Saliman's reply hissed through his teeth. "These aren't just wers."

Hekibel glanced at Hem, whose eyes had, almost childishly, doubled in size. "Black Bards," he said. "Hulls. How could they have followed us?"

"We can discover how they tracked us in the morning." Saliman threw out his hearing for the Hulls, but they seemed a distance away. Too far to be of concern just then. "For now, it matters not. Hekibel, stay behind Hem and I and be prepared to run should the need arise." Hekibel opened her mouth to protest but Saliman held up a hand. "Do not think I consider you a coward or weak, but these Hulls have powers like Bards. You are not a match for them, no matter how steadfast your heart."

Hekibel reluctantly stepped behind Hem and Saliman, but kept her blade and flame raised. Hem considered the remaining wers. "Can we battle both wers and Hulls at once?"

"I'd prefer not," Saliman said hesitantly. "I think the Hulls sent them to tire us so that when they came, we would be easily overpowered."

Hem was about to ask, _will we be?_ but thought better of it. "Should we make a shield then to ward off the wers and just wait for the Hulls so as not to waste any strength."

Saliman raised his sword. "No, for we would just be doubly strained when the Hulls arrived. Kill the wers, then deal with the Hulls."

The wers, that had fallen back when their comrades had been so easily disposed of, but the presence of the Hulls had emboldened them, and they were prowling closer, gnashing their teeth. The wer Hem had sent rolling backward had not taken its eyes from him, and was now sniffing at the air, tasting Hem on the breeze, and salivating.

_No, _ordered a voice in the wer's mind. _No, you bring the boy to me unspoiled. _

The touch of the Hull's mind made the wer whimper, but also served to remind the wer that it served the Nameless One, and he wanted the Bards brought back to him, not ripped apart in the wild. The wer shook itself and once again fixed its glowing eyes on Hem, digging its claws into the dirt and preparing to lunge forward.

Hem could sense of the attention of the wer on him and raised his blade higher to strike. On his side, Saliman was summoning another blast of white fire. This on, he hoped, would be strong enough destroy most of the wers, though he feared it might leave him vulnerable to the Hulls who were clearly waiting for the first battle to end.

Almost as if they had agreed to strike as one, the wers rushed upon them. Hem swung his blade through the dark, and felt the edge slice through flesh. He whirled around, using the momentum of his swing to draw the blade across another wer that had come too close, and it too collapsed in howls of pain. He fell gracefully out of the turn, summoning White Flame, and threw a bolt of it at the nearest wer, which tried to dodge but missed and was consumed by the fire in seconds. Hem recoiled as the smell of burn fur wafted to him, but he didn't lower his blade and continued to parry the blows of the beasts.

Behind him, Hekibel had managed to set a wer on fire with the branch she swung and watched as it ran yelping into one of its companions. She clutched the blade tighter in her hand and prepared to dive forward and deliver a killing blow if the fire didn't finish it, but Saliman, hyper vigilant of her, cast a ball of fire at the creature and it was gone. In the erratic light of the wers and the camp fire, Hekibel and Saliman made eye contact, and a fierce emotion passed between them, something like longing and desperation, and it left them both with an even stronger desire to see this night pass so that they might be with each other in the morning.

The wers were leery of Saliman, who they had identified as the strongest of the three, and they tried to lure him into traps, drawing him out and away from the other two, only to rush in behind him, but Hem was more than capable of handling the wers, and they fell back, snapping at the Bards. Soon, Saliman and Hem fell into a rhythm where Saliman would move forward, allow a wer or two to escape past him to Hem, who would then kill the creature with a well-placed blow or a flash of White Fire. It was slow, tedious in some sense, but it did allow the Bards to conserve most of their strength.

When there were only five wers left, the one who had been eyeing Hem, prowled forward. It was a huge creature, easily outweighing Hem, and had wicked, jagged claws that extended from its hands and feet. It watched Hem swing his blade and considered the relatively short reach of the boy. If it could get within his swing, it could probably strike him. But, of course, there was Saliman, who was posing far more a problem to the pack of wers. He was larger, he was stronger and the ease with which he swung his sword suggested he was more accustomed to battle. The wer hissed.

_Leave the Bard to us, _said a Hull into the wer's mind. _Subdue the boy, slaughter the woman. We will manage the Bard._

The wer snarled and sank lower, almost until its belly touched the earth. If the Hull said it would manage the Bard, then the wer wasn't going to bother with it. It began to lope forward, its gaze fixed entirely on Hem. One pounce, one good leap, and it would be within swinging distance of the boy's blade.

Saliman saw the wer darting forward and prepared to strike but as the wer leapt and Saliman made to summon Fire, he felt something like a cold hand grasp his wrist and twist his arm away. The White Fire burst off in the opposite direction catching two other wers, but completely missing the first. Saliman jerked back, but the cold grasp tightened and tugged him mercilessly forward, dragging him down like a weight. Saliman twisted about to Hem and Hekibel.

"The Hulls are approaching!" he cried. "Get back!"

Hekibel gave a sharp cry, pointing frantically at the darkness before Saliman. When he turned to look in the direction, Saliman saw the that shadows around the campsite were moving like liquid, forming and then dissolving into shapes. Creatures with no bodies, trying to cling to life in this world where they certainly didn't belong. Whatever the Hulls had summoned to bind him, it was too powerful a being to take on a physical shape.

_A bad sign, _Saliman thought, reaching out with his mind, trying to identify the creature. Whatever it was, its presence was a void, a lack of being, a lack of thought, and when it sensed Saliman reaching out for it, it repelled him. Saliman felt its jealously, for it despised him for his life while it was empty.

Saliman threw another bolt of Fire at the creature, but it deflected it carelessly, keeping its consciousness trained on Saliman. He could feel it, a malevolent weight pressing down on him, trying to squeeze him into nothingness. It wanted him gone. It wanted the light in him gone. It wanted no reminder of what it had once had but had given up ages ago. The reminder of life was too painful for the creature to bear.

Saliman realized in that moment that the thing would destroy him given the opportunity and that only the command of powerful sorcerer was checking it. Whatever Hull had come for them, it was far more dangerous than he had perceived.

_Hem, _Saliman thought. _It's come for Hem._

"Hem, run!" he cried, but noticed too late what had transpired behind him while he took the measure of the creature.

The wer that had escaped him was now circling about Hem, darting forward and then falling back, just out of reach of his swing. It snapped at him, driving him slowly back, forcing him farther and farther from the camp and the fire and from Saliman. It was trying to isolate Hem, and, fool that he had been Saliman had let it. Almost as an afterthought, Saliman glanced toward Hekibel. The other two wers has pressed her up against the caravan and, though she lunged at them with fire and blade, it did little to dissuade them.

Saliman began to frantically push back against the creature now holding him, but he couldn't break its grasp. Desperately he threw out his hands, reaching deep inside himself for some power to break its hold. Furious at his attempts, the creature began constrict, as if trying to force him into the smallest space it could. Saliman struggled to breathe, gasping for air.

Hem, though a good distance from Saliman and Hekibel now, heard his friend's gasps. He perceived the thing now attacking Saliman, but couldn't come to his aid. The wer had driven him to the very edge of the camp site and had now almost completely stopped lunging at him; now it just circled, herding him away from the others. Hem knew it wouldn't kill him, it would simply keep him away while his friends died.

_Saliman! _Hem said, _Saliman, what do we do? _

As if from a great distance, Hem heard his reply. _They've come for you, Hem. Can you escape?_

Hem glanced at the wer, which was following his movements with its hungry eyes. _I doubt it. Not unless this wer is distracted._

Saliman was quiet a long moment, but when he spoke, his voice was raw with emotion. _This might be the end of our travels together, Hem, for I do not think I will be able to defeat this creature._

Hem swallowed, looking around the camp site. Hekibel was still furiously lashing out at the wers, but they were closer now, and flashing their teeth. _We must get word to the others, _he mused. _The Bards need to know _

_ Run! _Saliman ordered again. _The wer will chase you but it can't kill you. Flee and make for Innail. _

But Hem knew this was pointless. Yes, the wer would run him down, and then the Hulls, wherever they were, would find him, and it would have been for naught. He glanced again at Hekibel, coming to a decision quickly.

_We travel together-to whatever end, _Hem said determinedly to Saliman and then drove his sword at the wer. It skirted the blades edge, jumping to the side, and left an opening for Hem to summon one last burst of White Fire at the wers surrounding Hekibel.

The wers fell back, yelping as they caught fire. Hekibel paused, her short sword hanging in midair, staring at Hem. She took a step toward him, but he stepped back shaking his head, and tossed his sword aside.

"Go! Go to Innail!" he shouted over the din of the battle. "Warn them!"

Hekibel's gaze flickered to Saliman, still struggling with the creature, and their eyes met. She saw, for one moment, a rush of emotion and longing, but then he closed his eyes and it was gone. He pointed behind her to the caravan, where one of the horses was snorting tossing its head, cowering behind the canvas and wood, and kept jabbing at it.

"Run!" Saliman cried, "Run!"

And so, Hekibel ran. Still holding the short sword before her in case of another wer attack, she turned on her heel and darted for the horse. It was quivering in terror, eyes rolling, but she grabbed the lead, tossed it round the horse's neck once, and swung up onto its bare back. She kicked the horse sharply in the belly, sending it flying forward. Through the campsite they went, past the corpses of wers and the spitting fire, away from Hem, who had thrown up his hands, waiting for the Hulls to descend on him, and away from Saliman, who was kneeling now, still wrestling with the creature but succumbing to its will. Hekibel fled them all and vanished into the night, clinging to the horse for life and crying out in fear and pain and loss.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

"You need to wake up, Maerad," said Cadvan in her ear. "We're almost here."

Maerad's eyes fluttered open and she glanced about. They were still seated on Darsor, riding steadily across the wastelands that stretched out before Dagra. In the distance, perhaps a few hours' ride away, were the walls of Dagra that circled the city like a great stone crown. From behind the walls, she saw smoke rising, reaching up high enough to blot out much of the sun. The air streamed past, dry and merciless and hot, and dirt was blown into her eyes. Maerad teared up and tried to wipe her face on her arm.

"Do not weep," he said, mistaking the tears for sadness.

Maerad stared at the city walls, reminded sharply of Gilman's Cot and the years she had spent dreaming of escape. Would it be like that once she was there? Was she going to spend the rest of her life behind those walls, a slave to the Nameless One, dreaming of the world outside? Almost instinctively now, she leaned back into Cadvan's chest.

"I suppose this is the end of our journey," she murmured.

"We don't know what the future holds," he said firmly, but Maerad felt a wave of his emotions wash over her through their mental connection, and though he spoke bravely, he didn't feel it.

"Hem is still out there," she said again. "As long as Hem is free the Song cannot be made. The Nameless One thinks he has won because he has us, but it matters not so long as Hem is free. There is hope."

Cadvan nodded though he said nothing and let Maerad rest against him. While they rode, he thought of Maerad's assurances that Hem could still prevent the Nameless One from joining the Song and making himself whole again. It was true that without music, the Song couldn't be made, but how likely was Hem to sacrifice his sister to the torments of the Nameless One? Surely that would be his next move in the war against the Bards? He would put out that Maerad was his prisoner, he would let it be known far and wide that she was being tortured and the only way to end her suffering was for Hem to present himself.

Cadvan flinched, thinking of Maerad being tortured by the Nameless One. _Whatever he threatens, whatever he allows his Hulls to attempt, you must stop them. You can't let him hurt her. _

He doubted, though, whether he could prevent the Nameless One from harming her. Cadvan suspected that he and Maerad would be separated unless the Nameless One had good reason to keep them together, and that prospect alone worried him. The only reason Cadvan could think of for the Nameless One to keep he and Maerad together was so that they could watch each other suffer. These thoughts clung to Cadvan as they went, and as the walls grew taller and taller Cadvan constricted his arms around her defensively, as if he might build a wall about her and keep the Darkness out.

There came a time when they crossed into the shadow of Dagra, and in that moment, both Cadvan and Maerad felt something cold heavy spread from their feet, up their legs and into their spine, where it seeped into the very marrow of their bones. It dragged them down, making them sag in the saddle. The mental connection between the two became strained, and soon, their thoughts didn't pass back and forth, only emotions. They could sense each other's horror and exhaustion and pain, but that was all, and they both wondered if the Nameless One was personally isolating them from each other.

Maerad tried to sit up a little straighter as the gates into Dagra loomed nearer. "We won't be separated," she said, though to Cadvan, it sounded like a whispered order to herself. Her mantra when they went before the Nameless One. "Whatever he tries, we must stay together, Cadvan."

"We will," he whispered urgently in her ear. "I won't leave you."

The gates to the city groaned as someone released the locks holding them tight and creaked open. A sweltering breeze blast through the opening, pummeling Maerad and Cadvan with warm air and sand. They both recoiled from the heat and Darsor tossed his head, furious, but the Hull leading them snapped the rope and Darsor trudged on.

Maerad felt her stomach drop out from beneath her as she looked up at the portcullis. She briefly wondered again if this would be the last time she set foot outside Dagra, if this was the last time fresh air and warm sun would caress her face. She glanced back as if she might see someone-something-to give her hope. She thought if she strained herself, she might glimpse Innail, nestled far north in the mountains. Was Silvia there, tending her herb garden, brewing her poultices, making merry as darkness closed in?

_I'll miss you, Silvia, _she thought miserably. _And I'll think of you and all your kindness. You'll be my light in this Dark place. You and Malgorn, and Hem and Saliman, and Nelac and Dernhil, and Nerili and all the people of Busk. Midsummer Night there, dancing all night, watching the moon glance off the water, and Ardina in her silver wood…_the memories poured from Maerad, haphazardly like a wound gushing blood. _The mountains of Thorold, and the far northern lands where the colored lights were painted across the skies, the great ice lakes and Arkan's castle. And Arkan too. The Bardhome where Cadvan and I hid from the Landrost and the ruins of Pellinor! _True tears welled up now in Maerad's eyes, tears for all the things she had never seen and now never would. _And Turbansk and Lirigon and Gent, and all the schools, each as different as the next, and inns I never stayed at, the libraries I never explored, the friends I never had. _

A gasp escaped Maerad and she felt a painful burning in her throat. All those places she'd never see, all the memories that could have been. She felt the tears begin to dribble down her face. Her future was gone and the knowledge of all the things she could have had that were now lost was the worst part of it. It had been there, a promise to herself from herself, sitting on the horizon. Maerad knew now that if she had succeeded in freeing the Song she would have traveled all of Annar and seven kingdoms together. She would have gone from School to School, and she would have seen the world of the Bards in its true glory. She would have had a life beyond the dull fear and urgency of her quest.

_Perhaps you could have been a normal Bard then, _she wondered. _Cadvan could have trained you to be just a normal Bard. _

And yes, Cadvan would have been at her side, her trusted mentor and friend. Perhaps more. Maerad knew now, though the realization had come far too late, that she loved him deeply. She did not doubt now that the intimacy of her relationship with him was more than friendship, and she regretted that she would never have the opportunity to explore that relationship. As shy and uncertain as she was concerning the Way of the Heart, she was drawn to Cadvan in a way she had been drawn to no man. She didn't think it was sexual, she barely knew what it meant or what it could have been, but she felt whole in his presence. Sitting on Darsor, Cadvan's arms tight around her, she felt safe.

_But it never will be. Just like Dernhil, he's just another lost life you could have had. _Maerad bowed her head to these bitter thoughts. _Just another future that might have been but never was. _

They approached the gate and waited while the Hulls conversed with the men at the door. Maerad watched them passively, so far beyond caring as she was now. Whatever was beyond the gates, it was her only future now, and it seemed suddenly so very dull compared to all the lives she could have led. She thought of them all: the Schools, the friends, the loves, the lessons she could have learned. And this future, this mean, sorry little life that lay before her, it was nothing compared to those.

She closed her eyes, felt the last of the tears trickle down her face. _Those lives are countless, remember that. When the Darkness presses down on you and all the Light seems to have left the world, remember what could have been. Because the days and nights ahead will be long and painful, but there's an infinity of what might have been. And he can't take it from me. _

Maerad opened her eyes to the scene before her. The Hulls and the men seemed to come to an agreement and the gates opened wider, the jagged edges looking not unlike some beast's maw. Beyond, she could see a paved street winding away into a collection of miserable looking buildings.

_So be it, _she thought fleetingly. _Let this sad story begin, for it is nothing to the joys that might have been, and it is those I'll call on in this Dark place. _

They passed through the gate and into Dagra.

* * *

The Hull roughly lifted Hem's face up by his chin and splashed water on him. He sputtered, gasped, and spat out the water. The Hull switched his grasp to Hem's hair and watched dispassionately while he struggled, irritated that this pathetic creature could have driven him half way across the Seven Kingdoms. An urge came over the Hull, a sudden desire to hurt Hem; it wanted to force his face down into the dirt and watch him gasp for air. But it couldn't, so instead it grabbed Hem's chin again, squeezed until his mouth was forced open, and poured water in. Hem choked on the water, tears welling in his eyes.

"Leave him alone!"

The Hull snapped around, its red eyes narrowed at Saliman who was bound at his wrists and ankles. "The boy needs water, no?"

Saliman raised an eyebrow. "Your master will be displeased if Hem comes before him hurt."

The Hull titled its head to the side, considering Saliman. It released Hem, tossing him with unnecessary force and moved to stand before Saliman. "You're right, of course. The boy must be kept well, but you…you are different."

The Hull had stored water in a canteen, and it struck Saliman across the face with the flat side of it. He flopped into the dirt his cheek smarting, the taste of blood in his mouth. Saliman rolled onto his back, spitting out blood.

Hem watched, horrified. "Stop it! Stop it or I'll-"

"You'll do nothing!" the Hull snarled, rounding on Hem in a rage.

There was something about him, perhaps his youth, or his wide eyes, or the innocence that still clung to him, but the Hull had an overwhelming desire to hurt Hem. It was like a hunger, eating at the Hull. Saliman was a grown man who would require time and energy to break, but Hem…Hem was just a boy. Children made the most visceral, satisfying sounds when the Hulls hurt them, crying and screaming and gasping. It could be so much more fun than the determined silence of grown men.

"And if you do, then I'll flay the skin from your hands and make you play one of those awful tunes you Bards are so fond of." The Hull grabbed Hem's bound hands and held them up, inspecting them with a professional curiosity. "You'll play till you bleed and then some."

Hem recoiled, holding his hands to his chest defensively. Saliman had sat back up and cleared his throat. "Hem will be of little use to your master if he can't play."

"Then you can heal him, Bard," the Hull snapped, still not moving its red gaze from Hem's hands and face. "There will be plenty of time between then and now for bloodshed and healing."

Saliman caught Hem's eye behind the Hull's back. "Then I suppose I'll have to be capable myself. And too many blows to the head can make that difficult."

"For now," the Hull said softly. "But when needs must, I think even the most addled healer will rise to the occasion spectacularly." The Hull cast a distasteful look at Saliman before smiling at him with sharpened teeth and then rejoining its companions and the wers.

Saliman and Hem both watched the Hull go, relieved to be free of the Dark presence that left them feeling nauseous. "I hate Hulls," Hem said, as if saying it alone might make them go away.

"As do I, Hem," Saliman said, and turned away from the creatures in disgust. "But, unless by some miracle of the Light, I think we will be spending far more time with them than we like."

Hem sighed. "We go to Den Raven?"

"I think so," he said ruefully. "They haven't killed us, and taken good care not to harm you, so I suspect they have some inkling of who you are. I imagine the Nameless One is keen to meet you."

"He can't possibly know who I am?" Hem wondered. "He knows Maerad-"

"He knew there was a son, and he knew when the Hulls sacked Pellinor, the boy was taken. I think he has been looking for you, if only because you are Cai of Pellinor."

"I'm Hem," Hem said stoutly. Saliman smiled sadly at him, then flinched when his face stung. Hem lowered his eyes. "But you're here. He can't know you."

Though he hoped the Nameless One had merely taken him because he travelled with Hem, Saliman was beginning to suspect something much more insidious. While he was not so widely known as Cadvan had been as Maerad's tutor, word may have spread that Saliman of Turbansk had taken Cai of Pellinor as his ward. If the Nameless One knew, then he would surely seek to capture them both, if only to keep the other firmly in hand.

_Though what he'll want with me, besides as a reward for Hem's obedience, is beyond my knowing, _thought Saliman bitterly. He glanced over to Hem, who was pointlessly tugging on the ropes that bound his ankles and felt a painful stab near his heart. He dearly loved the boy, and the thought of being used to control him, to even hurt him, was unbearable. _Perhaps I will die fast, and free him. _But even that thought did little to cheer him.

"I think the Nameless One will make it his duty to know all there is about you, and, as your guardian, I will be of interest," Saliman said evenly, ignoring his earlier thoughts.

Hem frowned. "I won't let him hurt you."

_Damn it, boy. _"It will not be in your power to stop him."

"I'll offer him-"

"Nothing," Saliman finished sharply. "I won't have you sacrificing anything on my account. Swear it to me, Hem, swear that if the choice is between my life and the Song, you won't choose me."

"No!" Hem was repulsed by the idea. "No, I won't! You're my mentor, my guardian, my dearest friend, I won't watch you die."

"This is about more than me," Saliman growled.

"If I refuse and the Nameless One kills you, he'll just find another," Hem said quickly. "There are plenty of innocent lives, plenty of men and women and children he might bring before me. It won't end because you're dead."

"If you're already determined to trade me for the Song, then we are lost," said Saliman hopelessly.

"If you die, I'll be alone there," Hem said softly, more fear in his voice than he intended. "I don't want to be alone in the Dark, Saliman."

Saliman turned away, unable to look into Hem's eyes. Every part of him in service to the Light was repulsed by the idea, but he couldn't put the image of young Hem, alone and chained in a dungeon in Dagra. "I won't leave you, Hem, but the sacrifice to the Light…"

Hem fixed him with a stern look. "Do not think I will so easily give up the Song, but neither could I face that Darkness alone."

Saliman wished then that he could take Hem's hand, hold him, anything, but the ropes holing his wrists held strong and the best he could do was nod his head. "You won't, Hem. But I would be a poor mentor if I told you nothing bad will happen to me in Dagra."

A silence stretched between them and Hem felt like as if a void had opened in the world, pulling them both in. Though he had seen Saliman miserable, fearful, even defeated in combat, he had never thought to see him so resigned. It was as if Saliman had simply abandoned his hope of escape, almost as if he had already lost the will to live. He couldn't imagine Saliman so empty, so forlorn. It scared Hem.

"Whatever happens, we'll see it through together," Hem said, but it was half hearted.

After a time, the two managed to shift closer together so they could sleep comforted by the other's presence. Hem struggled to sleep, shifting rapidly, his dreams dark and full of moving shadows and glowing red eyes. Saliman didn't sleep much, but watched the Hulls around their campsite, speaking in the Black tongue, occasionally glancing in their direction. They didn't seem too concerned with the two Bards in their power, it was if some new force gave them the will to control the two Bards. Saliman didn't like their confidence much.

The night passed in their manner, and before Hem knew what had happened, Saliman was nudging him awake. He had just enough time to thank Saliman before one the Hulls grabbed his bound wrists and jerked him to his feet. Hem involuntarily shied away, repelled by the void that was the Hull.

"I want to ride with Saliman!" Hem demanded. "I won't ride with you!"

"Stop!" the Hull ordered, but Hem thrashed more, digging in his heels and leaning as far away as possible. "Stop, or I'll take the riding crop to you!"

"Then do it!" Hem snapped. "But I won't ride with you. I won't ride with filthy Black Bards."

The Hulls hissed in laughter. "Black Bards?" the one holding Hem asked. "Is that what you call us?"

"It's what you are," Hem said stubbornly, lifting his chin to face the creature. He hated the sight of its dead, white flesh and horrid red eyes, but he refused to be cowed. Not when it meant he would have to spend the journey on its horse. "You're not alive, and you're not dead. You're a hateful thing. That's why you serve the Nameless One, because you're a monster, a void of all things good and true. You despise life."

The Hull bared its teeth, and it took Hem a moment to realize it was smiling, laughing even. It loosened its grip on Hem marginally, and jerked him left and right like a rag doll. "I am a hateful thing, you say? All the servants of the Nameless One are hateful things?"

Hem managed to get his feet beneath him and tugged on his arm. The Hull released him then, and he fell back in the dust. When he opened his eyes the Hull was before him, and a smile was still plastered on its pale, cracked face. "Only one but a monster could serve him," Hem said staunchly.

"I suppose we shall see, won't we? Are you a creature of Light or Dark?" The Hull's eyes flickered to Saliman. "What makes us monsters, I wonder? Are some of us born to be them, or do we become them? For you will find soon that your beloved Balance is naught but a lie. It is a lie! And when the time comes for you to choose between what is right and just and what is true to your heart, the answer will not be so clear as Light and Dark. For we all have Darkness in us, little Bard."

Hem felt his mouth go dry at the Hull's words, for they sounded like a warning, a curse. He glanced back at Saliman, who was staring at the Hull with shadows in its eyes.

* * *

"…arrived late in the night, absolutely frantic."

"Did she say anything at all, though?"

"The poor thing just sobbed, said they've taken him, and then collapsed. I think they managed to revive her. I expect she'll be in the healing houses now."

"Taken him? But who's _him_?"

"Not the slightest clue."

Silvia, who had been minding the rosemary bushes that flanked the front path to her home, patted the soil near the base of the bushes and tried to ignore the gossip in progress behind her. She thought, after the battle with the Landrost, that a woman arriving in the night was hardly worthy of gossip, but then…memories fade so quickly. She looked down at her bushes, leaves rattling gently in the breeze, and realized that it had been some days since she had volunteered in the Healing Houses. They soldiers were recovering, the wounded returning home to their loved ones, the Light creeping out from behind the momentary Darkness. When she looked up again, the women were gone, and Silvia gathered up her trowel and went inside.

She passed though the kitchen, depositing her gardening tools and retrieving two cups of strong, herbal tea. She padded through the house, coming to pause before the doors that led into the westmost corner room.

Silvia rapped with her knuckles and said, "Malgorn, open the door, I've brought you some tea."

She heard paper shuffling and footsteps before the door was thrown open. Malgorn smiled at her, but she saw the exhaustion in the lines of his face. She caught his gaze with a reprimanding look. He blinked sheepishly.

"Anything good?" he asked innocently.

"Something to help you sleep," she returned, and pushed her way into the study.

Disarray greeted Silvia's frowning face. Malgorn had slouched into the role of First Bard unwillingly, and the burden settled on him heavily. There were reports from all over the city, asking for the help of Bards to manage the chaos from the battle with the Landrost, there were petitions for food from the farmers of the country side and gracious responses dripping with sarcasm, explaining that unfortunately, the armies that had massed outside Innail had decimated the land surrounding it, and the farmers asked for Bards to come and sing the land new again. There was the School itself, which required aid, as not a few of the finest Bards had neem injured in the battle and their students needed guidance, the Healing Houses needed supplies. And, perhaps worst of all, there were burials to organize.

Silvia glanced over all of this and her eyes landed on the daffodils in the window, wilting under Malgorn's indifference. "For the love of the Light, Malgorn," she sighed, not unkindly, and went to the flowers to stroke the petals. "You need rest."

"The city needs help," he countered, but took a seat all the same. "We've won the battle, but you'd hardly know it, the way the people are. Miserable and scared, begging for the help and receiving so little."

"They must be patient," Silvia countered. "We cannot help them when we ourselves are in such a state."

"Patience is no small thing to ask those whose families paid the ultimate price," he returned darkly, looking into his teacup contemplatively. "I fear if we make them wait, they will grow angry."

Silvia turned to face her husband and saw a strange look on his face. "Whatever do you mean? The people of Innail have always loved the Bards."

"There is talk," Malgorn said, waving his hand at the window. "Talk here and there. The people are unhappy they seem to think…they feel that we are abandoning them in their time of need."

"Certainly they don't!" Silvia said, shocked. "We have always come to their aid. We bring cures to illness, food to starving, safety to fear and peace to madness."

"Not this time," he replied. "This time, we look as if we've hidden behind our walls."

"But we must," Silvia reasoned. "We cannot help them if we are too weak ourselves. Let the Bards heal themselves first, then we will heal the city."

"It's been weeks," Malgorn said with finality. "There are some who grow weary of waiting and it could bode ill for us if we're not careful."

Silvia crossed the room and sank to the floor before Malgorn. She rested her hands on his knee, looking up him with an open, honest face. "You are doing what is right, Malgorn. The people don't understand, but this is right. Bards are useless to the common people if we are without our power."

Malgorn cupped Silvia's chin in his hand, his heart aching. He loved her so deeply, her calm practicality, her compassion and her steadfastness. He wondered vaguely if she would have made a better First Bard. "You are too sweet with me, my love."

"If you will not be to yourself, I will." She smiled suddenly, radiantly. "And I shall until the people of Innail love you as much as I do."

"That could be an eternity," he warned, mock seriously.

"I certainly hope so," she murmured, taking his wrist and kissing it in a show of sudden warmth and affection.

A gentle knock on the door broke their tender moment. Silvia did not rise from her knees but instead rested both her hands on his leg and sat up a little straighter. Malgorn chuckled at her stubborn affection and called to come in. A young man dressed in the garb of an apprentice Healer entered and bowed to both Malgorn and Silvia.

"Yes?" Malgorn asked politely.

"Sir, a woman has come to the Healing Houses and requests your immediate attention."

Malgorn gestured to his wife. "Silvia is a Healer, not I. Certainly if the young woman is in need of help, you should ask her."

"She does not need healing," the Bard insisted. "Her injuries were minor when she arrived last night."

"Then why speak to me?" Malgorn wondered.

The young Healer looked fearfully between the two. "When she came to this morning it was as if a madness has taken her. She kept saying she and her companions had been attacked by Hulls, and though she had escaped, they took her fellow travelers."

"That is indeed dark news," Malgorn agreed, feeling Siliva's hand on her leg tighten. "What can we do for her, though?"

"She says they sent her here. They were Bards you see, her companions. She said you would know them."

Now Malgorn and Silvia shared a dark look. "It was not Cadvan of Lirigon?" Silvia said sharply. If the Hulls had taken Cadvan, then they would have taken Maerad. She thought suddenly of the girl the last time she had seen them ride off, and her heart began to beat faster. If Maerad was in the clutches of Hulls, the Light only knew what might become of her. "They did not take Maerad?" she demanded.

"No, milady," said the Healer quickly. "Not the Maid of Innail."

Relief washed over Silvia, but only for a moment. "Then who?" she pressed.

"Saliman of Turbansk and a young man who traveled with him."

* * *

The darkness was so complete Maerad couldn't see even an inch before her face. She held up her hand, strained in the dark, but saw nothing. It was such a disconcerting sensation that Maerad touched her palm to her face to convince herself she was there and not some wraith, floating in the dark. Her hand felt warm against her cheek, a staunch reminder than she was still alive, though absolutely terrified, in the dungeons of Dagra. She inhaled deeply, but the air was stale and smelled sour, like urine and vomit and something else she couldn't quite name but suspected was fear. She drew a shuddering breath and pressed down the urge to weep.

"Maerad?"

Her heart fluttered and she scrabbled toward to the voice until she collided with metal. She wrapped her fingers along the cold iron and felt them curve under her palms. They were bars. She was in a cell. Desperately, she pressed against them, willing them to break under her power, but the bars remained as steadfast as before. She reached through them.

"Cadvan? Cadvan where are you?"

She heard shuffling as he moved toward her and she slapped her hand on the ground to draw him over. His hand, when it found her, had such a tight grip she jumped for a moment, fearing he was some beast.

"By the Light, Maerad, I thought I'd gone mad. How long have we been here? How long have you been beside me?" His voice sounded ragged, like he'd been shouting.

"I-I don't know," she answered shakily. "I can't remember anything after we entered the gates of Dagra. I feel like I just woke up, but I'm exhausted and scared and so…so _alone,_ Cadvan. I feel like I've been alone forever in this place."

"As do I," he said hoarsely. "Have we been here that long? Has the Nameless One won?"

"He can't have," Maerad hissed. "We've only just-but we've only just arrived."

Cadvan's hand on her tightened and she felt his nails dig into her skin painfully. "Have we? Or has it been months and we've just forgotten?"

"But he doesn't have the Song," Maerad insisted. "I swear on the Light I didn't give it to him."

"You're sure?" Cadvan's voice took on a strange quality, not accusation, but tight, like he was under some great strain. His other hand wrapped around her wrist like a vice and he drew her closer till her face almost touched the bars. "Do you remember meeting him?"

Maerad tugged gently on her hand, but Cadvan's nails were latched onto her, keeping her firmly in place. "I remember nothing after we passed the gates."

"But you're sure you didn't give him the Song?" Cadvan pressed, and she could feel his breath on her face though she couldn't see him.

"No, Cadvan," Maerad insisted. She had a sudden urge to reach out and touch his face, stroke his cheek, just to remind him he wasn't alone, but she couldn't free her hands from Cadvan's. "Cadvan you're hurting my wrist."

Cadvan didn't seem to hear. "You remember the Song?"

"What does it matter?" Maerad said distractedly. "Whether I remember it or not, I can't play it without Hem."

"But the words?" Cadvan rasped, giving her hand a jerk. "You know the words?"

"Yes, yes, Cadvan," Maerad said quickly. "I could never forget them after Arkan told me."

This time, Cadvan didn't answer her. His grip on her wrist, still unforgiving and solid, seemed a strange sensation now, like shackles instead of a comfort. She strained her hearing but could not hear even his breath. She was about to reach out her mind to touch his, when he spoke again, and this time, his voice was empty of all emotion.

"Well, I'm glad we sorted that out."

"What?" Maerad whispered.

Suddenly, Cadvan's hands, still wrapped around hers twisted sharply and the nails dug into her wrists, down to the bone. She screamed in horror and he tugged her forward, smashing her cheek into the bars. From the darkness, a flat face was emerging, and it wasn't Cadvan. It was pale as the face of the moon, with yellow eyes and a too-wide mouth, gaping open to reveal sharp, jagged teeth. It bent its head and its entire neck cracked, the sound reverberating in the cell.

"The Song, Mistress Maerad," the thing said in a guttural voice, "I need the Song."

Maerad's eyes flew open and a scream erupted from her. There was light, there was a warm, dry breeze on her face, and cool stone beneath her. She felt her heart slamming in her ribcage, threatening to shatter the bones. Above her, an arched ceiling vanished into darkness like a void in the sky.

"Good evening, Maerad."

She sat up, frantically looking back and forth for the face that had emerged from the dark. The room she found herself in was spacious, the walls and floor carved of black stone that reflected the dancing light of torches on the walls. She saw, with some surprise, that one side was lined with windows of clearest glass that looked out on the starry night sky. She suspected she was quite high up. She switched her gaze to the other side of the room, saw a set of double doors that were sealed, and wondered vaguely if she could run to them. She might.

"Maerad!" she heard a muffled cry and snapped around.

Cadvan was struggling against two Hulls that were restraining him by the arms. She watched as one shoved a length of fabric in his mouth, effectively silencing him. His eyes met hers, wide with desperation, and he jerked uselessly against his captors.

"Let him go!" Maerad cried, tried to stand, and then toppled over, her legs too weak to hold her.

"I can't do that," said a soft voice behind her, and Maerad saw Cadvan's gaze switch up, horrified.

Maerad turned slowly, for she recognized the voice and knew what was behind her. And he was there, seated up on a throne raised only slightly up off the ground. His face was as horrible looking as her nightmare, and she flinched away from the sight of him. The Nameless One had a grotesquely disproportionate body, large but bent at odd angles, his arms so long they dangled past his knees, wide flat hands and thin legs. He wore black cloak and plan shirt, threaded with gold string in the design of runes she didn't recognize. His huge hands were gloved, and he wore a single ring on his right index finger that he occasionally tapped on the arm rest of his throne. When he turned his large, yellow staring eyes on her, bile rose up in his throat.

The Nameless One saw her reaction to him and his face split into a too wide smile, like a snake's mouth. His razor sharp, white teeth winked at her. "It is not that I fear that he will cast some spell, only that I grow weary of his snarling and cursing. For a famed Bard, Cadvan of Lirigon is not nearly as eloquent as I would have thought."

Though she tried to form words, Maerad could not speak, and the Nameless One chuckled. He gestured to her and the Hulls holding Cadvan joined in his mirth. "One Bard incapable of all but the meanest of words and one a mute. How the Bards have fallen since my last coming. What shall we do with them?"

One the Hulls twisted Cadvan's arm and he gasped through the gag. "Give them to us, my lord, and we will get them to talk. We have plenty of ways to make get their tongues wagging."

Cadvan tried to throw the Hull off him and succeeded in shaking its grip. The Hull stumble back, snarled, and then kicked his maimed leg. A whine escaped Cadvan this time, and Maerad threw herself in their direction.

"Cadvan!"

"So, she speaks," said the Nameless One, eyes sparkling with enjoyment. He recognized the tone of that voice, for he had heard it countless times from his prisoners. The desperate pleading of two lovers. He could make use of this. "Now, now, Mearad, I can't give you back your mentor quite yet. He has flouted my authority for far too many years now, and a reckoning is coming."

"Don't hurt him!" Maerad ordered, her voice low like a growl, giving her full attention back to the Nameless One. "It's me who you've hunted, me who has flouted your rule, not him."

"Oh, I know," said the Nameless One. "I know you were the Foretold who would Sing me to my death. But he is complicit, and that cannot go ignored."

A wave of fear washed over Maerad, the thought of Cadvan being killed turned her stomach. "If you kill him, I'll never give you the Song. I'll kill myself before that."

"Kill him?" This time the Nameless One laughed aloud, and the sound of it bounced off the walls. "I have no intention of _killing him_, little girl. Oh, I have my uses for such a powerful Bard as Cadvan. But I don't doubt there is work to do before he bows to me."

Cadvan's gaze was fixed on the Nameless One now, his blue eyes narrowed. The Nameless One studied him, starting at his feet and working up his legs and torso, and looked hungrily into Cadvan's face. It was worse than being scried, Cadvan thought. It was almost like the Namelss One had peeled back any layer of deceit and was privy to all his weaknesses.

"Let me guess, you will never serve me? You will die before swearing allegiance to my throne? You would rather rot in my dungeons the rest of your life then bow?" Cadvan didn't move, but the look on his face conveyed as much.

The Nameless One returned his attention to Maerad. "They all say that, you know. They all swear they would rather die, but it is so rarely death that I deal out. I find it too final for my own liking. If I kill your dear Cadvan, that's it. I get nothing more from him, and nothing more from you. So much potential wasted."

It was as Cadvan had feared. The Nameless One would use him to torment Maerad. He strained against the Hulls holding him, trying to touch Maerad's mind, remind her of her duty to the Light. The path was blocked though, no doubt by the Nameless One.

"I have such plans for a Bard like Cadvan, such great work for him, and I feel confident in saying that you are quite fond of him?"

Maerad shuddered, wondering if her love protected him or harmed him. "He is my closest friend," she said carefully. "I do not want him harmed."

"Friend is all?" the Nameless One asked pointedly. "I have never seen a man and woman more in love than you two."

Maerad did her best to steel her face. "You know nothing of love."

"A tender spot, I see? But surely, after all your travels together you have grown fond of the man?"

"Cadvan is my friend-"

"Lover," hissed the Nameless One, like a hound smelling blood. He was suddenly out of his throne and approaching Maerad. He moved sluggishly, almost dragging his hands on the ground. Cadvan struggled bitterly with the Hulls, frantic to reach her. "Do not lie to me, little Maerad, he is your lover. Tell me, do you long to hide in his embrace? Do you miss the touch of his hands on you? His caresses? His lips on yours? The feel of him when he lays you down-"

"Stop this!" cried Maerad, for as he had spoken, Maerad felt a void opening up before her. A future that would never be. She saw those things in her mind's eye, though she hardly knew what they even were. She saw Cadvan holding her, stroking her hair, kissing her, and realized how painful it was to know that reality was lost now. "_He is my friend_."

The Nameless One stopped, surprised by the gravity of her statement. His eyes moved up to Cadvan's, sparkling with pleasure. "But how is this possible?" he asked Cadvan. Suddenly, realization washed over the Nameless One and he threw his head back cackling. He swept across the room, ignoring Maerad's pleas, and took a hank of Cadvan's hair, forcing his face up. "Not a memory, but a pathetic little dream!"

The Nameless One stepped to the side, forcing Cadvan to look at Maerad. "Aren't you her mentor?" the Nameless One hissed in his ear, and a shiver shook down Cadvan's spine at the sound of his voice. He thought he could feel those sharp teeth raking his neck. "Her trusted advisor? Her closest friend? And those thoughts… chasing each other back and forth across your mind? You have betrayed her," said the Nameless One simply. "Don't deny it. If you could, you would have her, I only wonder what has stopped you this far. Some semblance of decency or respect?"

Maerad tried to catch Cadvan's eyes, to let him know she didn't believe a word of what the Nameless One had said, but he wouldn't look at her. _I know it's not true, I know that's not how it is. _

"Make no mistake, Maerad, your dear mentor is as vicious as the men in Gilman's Cot. Given the opportunity, he would have taken you to his bed. Even if you had said no he would have, a man reaches a point where he can bear no more-"

"_Stop lying_," Maerad snarled and the Nameless One turned about to face her. "You're wasting your breath. I know Cadvan, I know he wouldn't hurt me."

The Nameless One smiled then, a horrible thing that split his face from ear to ear. He reached out and ran his hand through Cadvan's hair, petting him like one would a dog. "Would it be a hurt, to be loved?"

Maerad narrowed her eyes but did not respond while the Nameless One continued to idly play with Cadvan's hair. The Bard's face had gone white at the continued contact of the Nameless One; he looked like was going to be sick.

"You Bards claim love is the purest form of Light, no? The Ways of the Heart are held in highest esteem. There is no truer service to the Light than to love honestly and well?" He turned his attention to Cadvan, eyebrows raised as if in question, but Cadvan didn't respond. "Perhaps you do not love well, you two? Perhaps you are cowards, terrified that love will destroy you, or you it, and so you turn away from the Light?"

"You know nothing of love or Light," Maerad hissed.

"No?" The Nameless One's eyes slid back to her. "And you do, Maerad? You, who at the merest glance of a man, cowers for fear he will turn on you? You, who abandoned your beloved brother? Or, do you think Cadvan knows of love? Certainly, he knows how to lose it, for we all know what happened to the last woman he loved."

At this, Cadvan growled through his gag.

"You don't understand love," Maerad announced, struggling to her feet. She wanted to draw the Nameless One away from Cadvan, force him to take his hands off him. "You think love is ownership, possession, but it's not. I can love my brother and still send him to safety. I can love a man but leave him to serve the Light. Love can be sacrifice and pain."

"I'm so glad you think that, Maerad," the Nameless One murmured, watching her with interest. "Because the time will come when you will sacrifice for love. And then we'll see…we'll see how the brave, beloved Maerad serves the Light."

Maerad swallowed back a curse. "The Light will take you."

"There is no Light here," the Nameless One mused softly. He prowled back around Cadvan, running his gloved hands over his arms and shoulders as if taking the measure of him. He brushed his fingers over Cadvan's wrist, felt his pulse increase. "You'll come to see that soon. Both of you." He stood behind Cadvan and Maerad couldn't take her eyes off his hands, now resting on Cadvan's shoulders. One wrong move, one misstep, and the Nameless One could kill him. The Nameless One must have sensed Maerad's train of thought, for he laughed.

"For now, though, I think you need your rest. I have such plans for us in the future, and I need you fresh."

"No." Maerad shook her head, taking a step toward them. "No, I won't leave Cadvan."

"Have no fear," he replied, and now his fingers were digging into Cadvan's shoulders painfully. "I wouldn't dream of harming the _dearest friend_ of the Fire Lilly."

"Then keep us together," she insisted.

He shook his head. "I can't do that. There is much Cadvan and I have to discuss, but I give you my word I shan't kill him."

"Your word means nothing."

All the false cheer left his voice. "If that's how you feel then it matters not what I say, does it? You had just better pray to the Light I need him alive."

Maerad took a few hesitant steps toward them but a pair of hands came down on her, pulling her back. "No! Let me go, let me go!" she screamed, twisting against her captor. "Cadvan!"

"Oh, stop it," said the Nameless One in a dead voice. "Stop it now or I'll flay his back open."

Maerad quit her thrashing, but her eyes flashed. "If you hurt him-"

"That depends on you, doesn't it?" he asked calmly. "If you keep up this childish behavior, perhaps I'll have to treat you to a reminder of my power. But, if you behave yourself, maybe this won't go so hard on you."

All the fight went out of Maerad, and she gathered herself before facing the Nameless One again. "Please, keep us together. I won't fight with you."

"You'll see him soon," was all the Nameless One said. "Very soon, if I'm not mistaken."

The idea of being separated from Cadvan in Dagra scared Maerad, but the idea of leaving Cadvan to the mercy of the Nameless One was terrifying. She couldn't bring herself to imagine what the Nameless One had planned for him, or what state she'd find him in once they were reunited. But the Nameless One's hands on Cadvan's shoulders, his long fingers gripping Cadvan's throat were a dark reminder that she wasn't in a place to bargain at the moment.

"Okay," she said steadily. "Okay, I'll go. But please, don't hurt-"

"Take her away," said the Nameless One before she could finish her words. "Lock her up somewhere quiet."

"Cadvan," she rasped as they led her forcefully away, and he watched her go desperately.

_Good, _he thought, _she shouldn't be here to see this. She shouldn't have to watch whatever comes next. _

As if reading his thoughts, the Nameless One wrapped his fingers around Cadvan's throat. Through his gloves, Cadvan could feel claws digging through the fabric and into his flesh.


	4. Chapter 4

Authors Note: I think after this chapter I will have to change the rating to M so look for it there

Chapter Four

Maerad's skin crawled as the Hulls marched her away from the room, away from Cadvan and the Nameless One. She was at once grateful to be away from the monster and terrified that she had left Cadvan to his mercy. The final look on his face, bottomless fear mingled with immeasurable relief made her stomach drop out as she walked, leaving her feeling empty and sick. But could she bear to go back to that room? Could she face that horrible, pale, smiling face?

She watched the Hulls that were conversing in low tones, not even bothering to look at her. She wasn't a threat to them anymore, not even an inconvenience. A small part of herself was repulsed by this. Was she that easily cowed? Did she surrender so quickly to the Dark? She wondered if she ought to struggle, curse, run away? Make some effort to escape.

But the words of the Nameless One bounced around her head: _If you behave yourself, maybe this won't go so hard on you. _

_He doesn't mean you, of course, _said a voice in her head. _Not really. He means Cadvan. So, don't be a stupid girl, behave yourself. _Still it was hard to swallow her shame.

They continued on, sinking deeper and deeper into tower, and Maerad shuddered as the temperature dropped steadily. As darkness began to press in, she wished fervently that she could call on her Gift, summer heat or light, or anything that might make the darkness more bearable. She rubbered her arms and one of the Hulls noticed.

"Bit too cold for the delicate Princess Pellinor?" it asked, eyeing her with its narrowed gaze. "Or are you missing your Prince Charming already?"

Maerad lifted her chin but said nothing to the creature. The Hulls watched her closely, but when it became obvious she was not going to rise to their taunts, they continued on. The stairs they were taking twisted through dark stone corridors down and away from any windows. Maerad wondered if they were below ground now.

"I don't suppose you've even seen something quite so glorious as the dungeons of our master, have you, Princess Pellinor? You Bards, you crave the Light, the warmth of the sun on your faces, the feel of the wind in your hair, but you can't appreciate the dark. Not till you've been here."

Maerad couldn't help herself. "There is nothing glorious about the Dark."

"Oh, you'll see," said the Hull softly, almost, Maerad thought, affectionately. "There is beauty in it. In our dungeons, you are consumed by the dark, but the utter absolute nothingness. It surrounds you, engulfs you until there is nothing left but a beating heart and the faint strains of thought. But soon, even that goes away. Soon you are nothing."

Maerad's missed a step, stumbling a little at the description of the cells. The Hull noticed her hesitation and smiled. "Nervous yet?"

"Your master needs me alive and, in my senses," said Maerad a little uncertainly. The thought of being locked in a cell in the dark sent her stomach flipping violently. "Turning me into nothing will not suit him well."

"You think you're very smart, don't you?" said the Hull flatly. "You think you've outwitted us? We have your friend, remember that. Perhaps you must be in your senses but he need not."

A rush of anger washed over Maerad. Cadvan was her friend, her mentor, the closest thing she had ever had to a lover. He had sacrificed everything to protect her, and this was the reward for his love of her. She bared her teeth in a sudden snarl.

"If you hurt him, I'll turn into a wolf and tear your throat out," Maerad snarled in a low voice. "I'll rip you apart with my bear hands."

The Hull's smile dropped. "I'll tear out Cadvan's heart and serve it to you, little wolf."

Maerad didn't respond, but her gaze narrowed and a real snarl tore through her throat this time. She continued moving forward, and as they went down, the cold finally sunk into her bones and she began shivering uncontrollably. The torches that lined the walls became the only source of light as they went and soon Maerad could barely see a foot in front of her face. She reached out instinctively for the wall and brushed her fingertips along it. Either the Hulls knew the way or didn't need the light, because they moved steadily along the passage.

Eventually the ground evened out and Maerad knew they had come to the cells. The Hulls led her along and, discussing something of apparent importance in their own tongue. One of them chuckled and Maerad flinched.

_What could possibly be funny for them? _Maerad wondered, cringing.

"But what could be more appropriate?" one Hull asked another. "She belongs here."

"Are the old chains still there?" asked another Hull.

"The blood is still on them."

"How sweet. She'll do well here then, won't she?"

One of the Hulls took a hank of her hair and tugged her forward while another threw open a heavy door. Maerad could see nothing ahead of her, and she dug her heels in when the Hull brought her forward.

"Afraid of the Dark?" the Hull whispered in her ear, enjoying the feel of her trembling in its hands. "Come, you'll like this place. It'll feel just like home."

Suddenly, a torch flared to life ahead of her, and she saw a Hull standing in a small, empty stone room, holding the torch aloft, looking around, recognition and excitement mingled on its face. Slowly, its gaze switched to Maerad and its face split into a grin.

"Come in, come in," the Hull said, gesturing to the cell. "Do you recognize this place?"

It was a miserable cell, Maerad found upon entering it. The floor and walls were uneven brick, a bench carved out of stone jutted from the walls. She saw chains dangling from the ceiling, saw dark brown stains on the floor and splatters on the wall, saw a bucket in the corner. Her breath fogged on the air in front of her and she longed for her thick wolf's pelt.

"Don't you know this place?" the Hull asked, moving around the cell, pointing at random walls and corners as if it would start her memory.

"I've never seen a place so desolate," said Maerad emptily, thinking that not even Gilman's Cot had been quite so awful. "I have no memory of it."

"That's surprising," one of the Hulls said, inspecting one of the chains. "We used to keep sweet Berludh here. Right here, with these very chains."

Maerad gaped in horror, thinking of the lay she and Cadvan had sung countless times. Thinking of poor Berludh and Andomian, who died in captivity and torment. She tried to twist away from the Hull holding her, but it gave her one vicious shove so she stumbled forward, fetching up against the wall. The Hull with the chain held it up so it swung back and forth before her eyes.

"And now, you can join her." The Hull took her wrist, and though Maerad strained against the Hull, it wrapped a chain around her wrist. Maerad jerked back but the Hull struck her across the face and she hit the opposite wall before slipping to the floor. "You are like a mirror of her, crouched like a beast in the dirt. She would weep for days at a time, begging for Andomian."

"Liar," Maerad spit, switching her gaze up. "She wasn't a coward. She went to save her brothers, fight the Nameless One. She didn't beg."

"In the end she did," the Hull insisted. "When her brothers were gone and poor Andomian went mad from the torment, she begged us for death."

"Never," Maerad whispered, glancing between the two Hulls.

The Hull considered her before shrugging. "You will though. You're half the woman she was, and she didn't last. I just hope I'm there when you break."

Maerad lunged forward suddenly, but the chain snapped, taught, and she bounced back against the wall. The Hulls snorted derisively before slipping back through the door, taking the torch with them. The last thing Maerad saw before the darkness consumed her was the look of pleasure on the Hull's deathly pale face as they closed the door, then the light winked out.

* * *

They had been riding for almost two days. Hem sat on the horse behind Saliman, uselessly tugging on his ropes which lashed him to the saddle, watching the Hulls on either side of them. They said little but rode hard, driving their horses hard, occasionally stopping to sniff the air. Hem hated the sight of them, hated the Hulls with a deep passion that turned his stomach. When one of them glanced his way, he turned to look at Saliman's back and the Hull sniggered.

_What is it, Hem? _Saliman asked gently.

_ I can't stand them, Saliman, I can't stand them and yet there is no escape. We go to Den Raven, and there will be more, and there will be the Nameless One and-_

_ You mustn't think like that, Hem. _Saliman could not deny that in Dagra they would be faced with the prospect of meeting Sharma, but he would not lay that weight on Hem's younger shoulders. _If you give in to fear now, we are lost. Be brave._

_ Like Maerad, _Hem thought. He wondered where his sister was now, and, with growing dread, what she would do when she learned Hem had been captured and taken to the Nameless One. Would she come for him? Would she surrender to the Dark? _Saliman, what if Maerad comes for us?_

Saliman was silent a long time, considering Maerad. She was young and loved her brother desperately, perhaps enough to surrender to the Nameless. If Maerad was at Innail she may have received word from Hekibel and was even now riding to stop the Hulls. But the thought of Innail, of Hekibel, was almost too much for him to bear. He remembered seeing her flee on horseback, glad to see her escape but heartbroken that he would never see her again. He pushed the thoughts away, this wasn't the place to think of her.

Saliman wish fiercely that Cadvan was still with Maerad, at least he would try and council her against riding as fast as she could to Dagra. But then the thought of Cadvan, and his lonely death, hit Saliman again, and he felt weak. It seemed that all his life was one loss after another.

_ I do not know, _he said to Hem. _She will first have to learn of our capture, then find a way to reach Dagra from wherever she is. It could be a while._

While Hem was glad to hear it could be a long while before Maerad even learned of his imprisonment, he missed her achingly. _She will do something. She will come for us._

_ Maerad the Unpredictable. She may come with the army of the Ice Witch for all we know! _Saliman tried to sound lighthearted, but a part of him prayed to the Light if she came, it was with an army to stop the Nameless One.

They rode on for the rest of the day and paused as the sun sank. The Hulls left Hem and Saliman on the horse while they tied their horses and started a fire. When they came for the two, Hem wriggled uncomfortably, and a Hull stuck him, drawing a curse from Saliman. They drug the two Bards to the fire and sat them back to back, tying their hands together and ramming lengths of cloth into their mouths. Hem leaned back, comforted by the closeness of Saliman. As the moon rose, they watched the Hulls wordlessly poke sticks into the fire. When a bird appeared, black against the shadow of the moon, they all froze.

One Hull stood and held out his arms. The bird, a raven, landed and shrieked. On its leg was tied a piece of parchment, and it held out the leg expectantly. The Hull took it and read it once over, its lips pulling back into its horrible smile. Meaningfully, it passed the letter to the next Hull. One by one they read it.

Hem felt a sweat break out on his brow. _It must be from Dagra. What do you think it's about?_

_I can't begin to imagine what would give a Hull such pleasure, _Saliman said, worried.

The Hull who first received the message clapped its gloved hands together and turned to the bound Bards. "A pleasant surprise awaits you in Dagra, little Bard. A gift from our master to you."

Hem narrowed his eyes and the Hulls cackled.

"We have received word that at this very moment, your sister is being held in his fastness."

Hem felt the ground fall out below him, his breath catching in his throat. _No! _he cried. _No they can't have Maerad._

_It's a trick, _Saliman said at once. _Don't believe them_

Hem shook his head violently, muffled speech escaping the gag. The Hull nearest him ripped it out of his mouth. "Something to say?"

"I don't believe you," Hem denied. "I would know if my sister were captive of the Nameless One."

"Believe what you like, but this letter does not lie. The brat, Maerad of Pellinor, and her worthless protector, Cadvan of Lirigon, are even now being interrogated by the Nameless One."

Hems felt his heart suddenly swell. "_Lie_. Cadvan of Lirigon died months ago."

The Hull tilted its head to one side, chuckling. "He is there, probably on his knees right now, begging for mercy."

Saliman's eyes were narrowed. He studied the Hull closely, and though he was by no means an expert in Hull expressions, it seemed as though the Hull believed it was truth. This unsettled Saliman more than he cared to admit. If Cadvan was alive with Maerad and they had been captured by the Nameless One…he trembled, thinking of what had become of his friend.

_Cadvan dead, or Cadvan captive of the Nameless One. Which is worse? _Saliman turned away, unable to stand the smug look of satisfaction on the Hull's face. To Hem, he said, _Don't rise to them, Hem. They are trying to scare you, trying to anger you, so they have a reason to hurt you. _

Hem tried to twist around and catch Saliman's eye. _What if they really do have Maerad and Cadvan? What if she's already given him the Song? What if-_

_Don't think about it! _Saliman ordered firmly. _If you give in to fear, if you give in to their games, it'll drive you mad. Remember that Cadvan is dead, and if that was a lie, why not the rest of it? _Saliman said the words, but he wasn't sure he believed them.

_Cadvan dead, _Hem sighed. _I almost wish he was alive, if Maerad is in Dagra, I mean. I couldn't imagine her there alone._

* * *

When the doors closed on Maerad's white face and Cadvan groaned, grateful she was away from the Nameless One, but uneasy with her out his sight and in the hands of Hulls.

"It will be easier, I think, for the two of us to have a conversation without distractions, yes?" the Nameless One asked, moving away from Cadvan. He made a gesture to the Hulls holding him and Cadvan was dragged unceremoniously across the floor. One Hull held him while the other fit metal cuffs around his wrists. They were attached to a length of chain that was mounted to the floor. Cadvan barely noticed until on Hull gave a sharp tug and he tumbled back a step. "You can divest him of the gag. We need to speak."

The Hulls ripped the gag from his mouth and Cadvan spit out a mouth of blood at the Hull. It hissed but only stepped back, an eager light glowing in its otherwise dead eyes. "Shall we give him a little incentive?"

"No," said the Nameless One carelessly. "There will be plenty of time for that, I can't have him spoiled too soon. For now, I wish only to speak with him. You may go."

Cadvan's eyes followed the Hulls as they too left the room, and he panicked, thinking they had gone to handle Maerad. "What are you going to do with Maerad?" he demanded.

The Nameless One smiled toothily. "I think we will leave Maerad out of our discussion for now. You see, Cadvan, I'm quite interested in you. A Bard, almost turned Hull, who has then risen so high in the Light. You were almost mine."

Cadvan bared his teeth in a snarl. "I was never yours."

"You could have been," insisted the Nameless One. "Tempted here and there by the power of the Dark, it would have been such an easy fall for you. Bards never realize they've fallen till it's too late."

"I serve the Light," Cadvan said staunchly.

"I know!" crowed the Nameless One, chuckling. "And you have done it so well. You even defeated my most trusted ally, the Landrost. I was impressed, to say the least, when I heard of a Bard escaping his stronghold. I knew then that I would have to meet you. Speak with you. I am not disappointed."

"There's nothing to say," Cadvan replied, tugging on the chains that bound him. If he was going to the face the Nameless One, he would have preferred to have his hands free. "I have no interest in serving you, nor is there anything you can offer me that might change that."

"Don't be so hasty," the Nameless One murmured. "There is much I could offer you, much I am willing to give, to such a powerful Bard who swears allegiance to me."

"I will not turn Hull," he said simply.

"I don't need a Hull, I have plenty. Besides, I suspect that, by your nature, you could not be turned." The Nameless One leaned forward on his throne. "But a Bard, a Bard of immense power and influence, I could use. One that could pass into the bastions of the Light and do my bidding, I am keen to have."

"I would never betray the Light."

"Oh, yes you would," said the Nameless One knowingly. "Because I will offer you the one thing you want." The Nameless One waited for Cadvan to speak, but he remained resolutely mute. "The girl thought I was lying, but I am no fool. You love Maerad of Pellinor, love her so desperately you would do _anything_ to save her."

Cadvan swallowed down a curse. _You were stupid to think he wouldn't know, stupid to think he would offer you anything else. _"You're going to kill her, so forgive me, but I don't see how this is a fair trade."

"What makes you think I'm going to kill her?" the Nameless One asked, sensing Cadvan's wavering will and chasing after it. "Don't misunderstand me, both you and Maerad have flouted my authority, challenged me publicly, and so will be punished thoroughly. I have given some thought, if you must know, about how exactly I plan to repay your kindness to me. Many days and nights of torment, certainly, but I won't grant either of you the release of death."

Cadvan had feared this, feared that the Nameless One would seek revenge instead of a quick end. He considered his options frantically, but there seemed little recourse. "Then what else could you possibly offer me?" The words were braver than he felt.

The Nameless One sat back in his throne, flicking his gaze over Cadvan's face, watching his Adam's apple bounce with every nervous swallow. He thought he could smell fear on the Bard, leaving a tangy taste on his tongue. He had looked forward to this meeting for a while now and had every intention of drawing it out.

"Do you know who you remind me of?" he asked suddenly. Cadvan continued to stare at him, wondering where this was going. "Come now, have a guess."

"I won't play these games with you," said Cadvan thickly.

"Perhaps I'll send you to the dungeons and bring Maerad back then," the Nameless One answered simply. "Is that what you wish?"

_Give him what he wants, keep him away from her. _Cadvan shook his head thoughtlessly. "I don't know who all you've killed, nor which of them you brought here."

"You plead ignorance?" The Nameless One found this amusing and took a drink of a dark red liquid. Cadvan hoped it was wine. "You are the very image of Andomian: dark haired and dark eyed, rebellious and fearless, the look of a king. You know the story, don't you?"

Cadvan grimaced. "Every Bard knows the lay of Berludh and Andomian. They died in torment in your dungeons."

"Exactly! Not long after they were captured by Karak." The Nameless One watched him closely. "But here, you and he are quite different, no? Andomian never escaped Karak, who brought him to me. You did."

Cadvan breathed out through his nose loudly. "The Landrost."

"The very same," said the Nameless One softly. "And when you escaped him, you found none other than Maerad of Pellinor, who is so like Berludh herself. You see, I remember the two of them well, and when I saw you two brought in, I tell you my heart was glad. It felt as though my old friends had returned."

"You have no heart!" Cadvan cried suddenly, sickened by the tale. "You know nothing of friends or gladness."

"I disagree, Cadvan. You don't understand how lonely it is, immortality. Everyone I ever knew has long since passed on, and you begin to feel a great emptiness open up inside you, a void that nothing fills, and you long for the past and the people of it." The Nameless One looked Cadvan over again. "Seeing you, it is like seeing an old friend. Perhaps you are Andomian reborn and returned to me, just as I rise to power once more?"

"You killed him."

The Nameless One sighed. "I had no choice but believe me when I say I regretted having to. The two of them were such a lovely addition to my halls for a time. They used to sit right there," the Nameless One gestured to the right, to a slightly raised dais beneath a set of windows. Cadvan noticed with horrific clarity that there were chains driven into the wall, some of them rusted and red. "I would have them sit and make music for my hall and my guests."

"Liar," Cadvan hissed. "This is a dead place. No music sounds here."

"Oh, it did," the Nameless One assured him. "They struggled with me at first, cursing me and rattling their chains and breaking whatever simple instruments I gave them, but they came around. It took some finessing, of course."

"I can only imagine what horrors you visited on them."

"I flayed one of Berludh's brothers alive." Cadvan tasted bile in his mouth. "Maerad has a brother, no?" He chuckled fondly. "My little Berludh."

"Don't call her that." Cadvan thought of Maerad being dragged away by the Hulls, her small pale face, and her brother Hem, who would come rushing to save her. _Was history really repeating itself in some sick semblance? _

"But don't you _see_?" The Nameless One seemed possessed of some inner energy. "It's a _sign_, my second coming marked by the return of Berludh and Andomian! I won't kill you _this_ time, I want you two to witness my rise, to take your rightful place in my empire."

"I want no place with you," Cadvan said firmly.

"You cannot deny what it yours by right," the Nameless One said, rising up and approaching Cadvan slowly. His face was animated, mobile, and he was breathing fast as something came to him. "If only you could see what I see, if only you understood the circular nature of time, the rise and fall of empires. Some things-some people-_must_ be present for a spell to work, and now you are all returning to me." The Nameless One came to stand before Cadvan, looking down on him. He reached out and Cadvan recoiled, but he took his chin in his clawed hand and squeezed until Cadvan gasped. He turned his face from side to side, studying it like a painting. "Though it may be misery and dread, it is your right. You were born to it."

Cadvan jerked his face free and waited for a blow to fall, but when it didn't, he glanced back. The Nameless One was smiling widely, as though Cadvan had just sworn to serve him. "Andomian did that to me, ages ago. He hated when I touched him, recoiled at my nearness. He would twist about like a weasel to get away."

"I am not Andomian," Cadvan said firmly.

"You are Cadvan of Lirigon, but he's there inside you. Everything that was Andomian is a part of you. The pieces fall into place so perfectly." The Nameless One prowled around him, and before Cadvan could turn to face him, he felt the chains binding his hands tug him backward. He slammed into the ground, saw for the briefest moment, the figure of the Nameless One towering over him, and then felt a hand on the back of his neck, dragging him up to his knees. The other hand took his chin and forced his head back till he looked straight up.

_Get away, get away, get away, _Cadvan thought, reason giving way to fear. The Nameless One stood widely, so his feet were on either side of Cadvan's knees. His hand on the back of his neck felt like a collar, seconds away from cutting off the air to his lungs, the claws on his hand digging into his cheeks. _If you die here, Maerad is alone. Get away from him!_

Cadvan tried to throw up any sort of barrier, any blow, any bit of White Fire that might make the Nameless One recoil. Nothing happened. He suspected the Nameless One was using his superior power to repress Cadvan's. He tried to jerk free, throw himself forward out of the Nameless One's grasp, but he couldn't break the hold. He felt a cold spike shoot up his spine, invading his blood, making it hard to breath. His stomach ached.

"Now, now, Cadvan, there's no use fighting me. No use fighting destiny." The Nameless One wasn't even looking at him. He was staring off into space while forcing Cadvan's gaze up, as if seeing something else. "But it has been so long since we last spoke. You saw reason once, I can make you seen it again."

"Let me go," Cadvan rasped.

"Certainly." The Nameless One threw Cadvan forward so he sprawled on his face. He struggled to get up, chains rattling while he levered himself onto his knees.

When he was up, Cadvan found the Nameless One had returned to his throne and was looking expectantly at the doors. For a moment, Cadvan feared the Nameless One decided to bring Maerad back, to force him to swear whatever oaths he wanted. But, no, when the doors opened two guards drug a man forward. Cadvan frowned, glancing between the man and the Nameless One.

"What is this?" Cadvan demanded, but the Nameless One didn't answer. "Who is that?"

The man threw his head back, baring his teeth like a snarling wolf, and began spewing words at the Nameless One. Cadvan didn't recognize the language, though it sounded faintly familiar. Whatever he was saying, though, must have been harsh, for the guard stuck him on the back of the head and threw him with unnecessary force to the ground. The man landed before Cadvan and scrabbled to get up before the guards could take him and affix chains the cuffs on his wrist. He knelt beside Cadvan.

"Who are you?" Cadvan asked, but the man didn't answer. "Why are you here?"

The man shouted at the Nameless One again, and the Nameless One responded in the same language, leaving Cadvan to guess what they said. The man cut an impressive profile, a strong chin, a straight nose, dark blue eyes and a mess of thick black hair. He had a beard and Cadvan guess he had gone a long while without a bath of any sort, for his clothes were tattered and there was dirt and blood staining them. The ache in Cadvan's stomach grew, like something in him was disgusted by this sight.

"Why have you brought him here? What do you want to show me?" Cadvan demanded but the Nameless One said nothing, just continued to converse with the man beside him. "Who is this man?"

The doors opened again, and the man turned, a look of terrified desperation in his eyes. Cadvan was reminded of the look of a rabbit caught in a trap. A woman was brought forward into the light and held before the Nameless One. Cadvan thought he recognized her, but he couldn't say with any certainty from where. Though she had clearly suffered rough treatment, she was lovely all the same. Her angular face was set in grim lines, her blue eyes the color of ice flashed furiously, and she tossed her long, tangled black hair back when she addressed the Nameless One. He must have found what she said amusing, for he smiled and nodded his head indulgently. Cadvan glanced to the man again and saw his face was transforming into one of abject horror.

"What? What is he saying?" Cadvan asked rapidly. "What will happen to her?"

The man was speaking frantically now, shaking his head, looking from the woman to the Nameless One. He kept tugging on the chains, and they beat against the floor, setting Cadvan on edge. The Nameless One merely shrugged, gestured to someone in the shadows of the room, and then sat back in his seat as if viewing a play.

"What are you doing?" Cadvan bellowed, and this time, a voice responded in his mind.

_Watch, Cadvan, and remember, _the voice whispered. The sound of the Nameless One in his head had been enough to make Cadvan reel, and when he looked up again, a horror unfolded.

The woman struggled against the men, but one of them struck her solidly in the stomach and she sank to her knees, clutching her belly. One of the two men said something to other and ripped her hands away from her stomach. She cried out, trying to get her arms free while the other man kicked her legs apart. The growing ache in Cadvan's stomach blossomed into sharp pain and he knew with dread what was going to happen next.

"No, no, stop this!" He started twisting against the chains even as the man next to him was clearly pleading in his tongue. "I swear, I don't remember this!"

The Nameless One didn't answer. Instead, Cadvan look on while one man forced the woman down onto her back and the other sank down beside her. He threw her skirts up, but she kicked at him, narrowly missing his chest. The man lunged and struck her twice across the face so that the second time she spit out blood onto the bodice of her gown. The man chained beside him cried out like a wounded animal.

"Please, for the love of the Light, stop this! Don't do this to her!" Cadvan pleaded. "I don't know these people!" He looked away when the man at her feet began to loosen his belt.

_You need to watch, _ordered the Nameless One, and when Cadvan still wouldn't look back, a sharp pain grew behind his eyes until he was forced to open them. _Watch and remember._

"You've gone mad!" Cadvan bellowed. "I don't know this!"

But it made no difference. Cadvan was forced to look on as the woman was raped. It was a foul, vicious act, so needlessly cruel and hateful his mind was empty but for the growing sense of revulsion. Lovemaking was, for Bards, an act of unity and tenderness, a bodily manifestation of the Light. It was enjoyable, both emotionally and physically, and generally viewed as an artform. To see something that was meant to be so pure transformed into some mindlessly brutal act was unbearable.

When the man finished, Cadvan doubled up and vomited until only bile came up. "Stop this, please. I don't understand what you want me to see!"

_You must remember, it is the only way. _

Cadvan thought for one horrifying moment the Nameless One would march another woman in, but he remained on his throne enticed by the scene before him. Cadvan looked back to find, to his horror, the men had changed positions and the process was beginning again. At his side, the man was begging helplessly, pounding again and again on the floor with his chains while his woman was mere feet away, completely beyond help. Cadvan glanced at her face. She was staring away, refusing to look at anyone for fear they would see the pain etched clearly in her face and in her eyes. Little gasps escaped her with each violent thrust, but she had stopped struggling and seemed to be waiting for the ordeal to end.

When it did, Cadvan sat back on his haunches. "Please, please stop this. I know you think it will help me recall some memory, but swear on the Light, I don't have one." He looked to the Nameless One, but the creature didn't stir from his vigil on the throne. "What more do you want?"

_If you reject your past, we must continue, _he said and Cadvan felt himself go still.

It became an unbearable process that seemed to go on forever. There were more men, and there was more blood and more tears. The man beside him subsided into sobbing and the woman might as well have been dead. Cadvan realized the Nameless One was not going to stop, and he tried to think of anything else. It didn't work.

"By the Light, just let them go!" Cadvan finally cried out.

_Cadvan, don't you understand? They can never go. _

Cadvan felt his stomach clench like a cold hand had reached up inside him. _They can never go, _he thought. He looked at the woman and realized why her slanted eyes and beautiful face and long dark hair had been at once so foreign and so familiar. Why the man beside him, so majestic and bold, had made him sick. _They can never go. _

"Berludh?" he asked of the woman, though he knew she would not answer-could not answer-for she was long dead. He turned his gaze slowly to the man weeping beside him. "Andomian?"

_Likeness calls to likeness, Cadvan, _the Nameless One intoned. "It is your story."

The voice was above Cadvan this time, and when he looked up, the Nameless One was there, one hand on the back of his neck and one squeezing his chin as he looked up. This time, the Nameless One was looking down on him with his yellow eyes with such intensity that Cadvan thought he might consume him on the spot. He felt hot tears on his face.

"Another lifetime ago, you were here in my tower, and after many months of refusing me, I ordered your lover, Berludh, given to my men while you watched. It broke your heart and it broke her soul. Neither of you recovered."

Cadvan drew a ragged breath. "I must surrender or Maerad will meet the same fate?"

"You still don't understand," the Nameless One insisted, searching his face hungrily. "This is _our _story. The three of us have been circling each other like stars in the night, bound together for eternity. Just when I must rise to power once more, you return to me, wearing different faces and different names, but just the same."

Cadvan felt his heart sinking. _If the story must repeat itself, if Maerad must meet the same fate, I'll kill myself. _"We can be different," Cadvan said desperately, trying to break free of his grasp. "If the story is told again, it can end differently."

The Nameless One's eyes narrowed. "Berludh and Andomian refused me, and so they were punished. But you and Maerad need not meet their fate. You have seen your past, now you may choose whether or not to make different future."

_You knew it would come to this. You knew that if you and Maerad were brought before the Nameless One this would be the price. _Cadvan's eyes flicked to the spot where, moments ago, Berludh had lain in a pool of her own blood. _Can you bear to watch?_

"I am not Andomian," Cadvan said weakly once more. "This is not my fate."

"If you refuse yourself, I shall have to think of other ways to remind you," the Nameless One warned. "If you accept your destiny, accept your role in our story, I will spare the girl. Give me your Name, Cadvan, and take up the place you refused last time."

His throat was dry. _You will be his slave, _he reminded himself.

"Please, spare her," Cadvan said softly. "Leave her out of this. If it is me you want, then it is me you must break."

"It broke Andomian to watch," the Nameless pointed out blankly, now looking at the spot where Berludh had been. "He never so much as raised his voice to me again. Is that what you want?"

_You know there is no choice. _"I will swear an oath to you."

"You will give me your Name." The Nameless One's voice was like iron. He released Cadvan and strode before him, standing in the spot where she had been. "I will not accept an oath that you will weasel out of. You will give me your Name and I will bind you in service to me. You will be mine, as you were then."

When Cadvan said nothing the Nameless One narrowed his eyes. "You will give me your Name, Cadvan, or I will have them bring Maerad _now _and you may watch as the woman you love is violated. You thought it was bad before? You thought Berludh suffered so greatly? It will be a hundred-fold worse this time! It will last hours until there is nothing left of her but a sobbing little cur. She will beg you to end it."

"No, no please-"

"I'll make you relive it again and again until it drives you mad!"

"Please!" Cadvan called out. "I will give you anything else. Anything you want."

The Nameless One laughed. "You're not in a position to bargain. Come, Cadvan, it won't be so bad to serve me. I could make it almost enjoyable for you. Of course, there will be the necessary…_lessons_. After all you have done against me, I cannot let you go so easily. Perhaps at first it will go hard on you, but after a while, you will find me a fair master."

Cadvan was repulsed by the idea of calling him master. "If I give you my Name, I am not a servant, I am a slave."

"I'll give you the girl," the Nameless One said smoothly. "When all is said and done, when the Song is mine and the Bards in thrall to me, Maerad will be yours." When Cadvan said nothing the Nameless One moved closer. "Do not try and pretend it's not what you want. I've seen it in your mind. I see how your think about her, how you dream of gathering her up in your arms, caressing her, your lips on her. Sometimes, when you let yourself go, you think of laying her down on a bed-"

"Stop," Cadvan said suddenly.

"This is not love as she knows it, though, is it? You think she will be shy, you think she will bite her lips, look to your for guidance. And you, the good teacher that you are, will be gentle."

"I said stop!" Cadvan growled.

The Nameless one bent at the waist, so his face was on level with Cadvan. One of his absurdly long arms stretched out, took Cadvan's chin in his hand and lifted his face to his. His horrible yellow eyes darted over Cadvan's face, searching for the truth. "And then you think of unbuttoning her gown, slipping it off her shoulders, touching her. You're quite accomplished with women, no? You've certainly had your fair share of lovers, not just the ones you murdered. You think you will show her how it can be, how good you can make it for her. Your hands on her hips, then her thighs, up and up-"

"_Stop!_" Cadvan roared, unable to bear the sound of his voice. Unable to bear the truth.

The Nameless One paused. "She's yours. When it's all done, and you've served me like a good little Bard, I'll make it a law punishable by death: no man may lay a hand on her but Cadvan of Lirigon. I'll lock her up in a room for you, and only you'll have the key." The Nameless One was breathing on his face now. "It is only right, after all, that Andomian and Berludh be reunited in this life."

_There is no choice, _Cadvan told himself. _Why do you bother fighting when you cannot win? _"What would have me do?"

"I haven't decided," the Nameless One returned, and Cadvan knew he was lying. He had a plan for him, and that scared him more than anything else he cared to admit.

"Promise me you will spare her?" he whispered. "Promise me Maerad will go unharmed?"

"I wouldn't dream of ruining a love story as old as yours," he hissed.

Cadvan trembled, aware of the dead eyes resting on his face. It would be the end, he knew, there could be no coming back from this. _But you can't abandon Maerad to this fate. _

"But you give me your word she will be spared?" Cadvan wondered if it even mattered now. The Nameless One could lie, could find a way around any oath.

"My word, Cadvan of Lirigon, that so long as you serve me loyally, I will leave Maerad to your care."

"So be it," Cadvan whispered.

The Nameless One grinned widely. "Your Name?"

It felt like it was wrenched from his mouth, tugged by some unseen force. "_Inareskai_." He spit the word like a curse. When the Nameless One didn't respond, Cadvan frowned and said louder, "_Inareskai_."

"Stormcloud?" In the blink of an eye, The Nameless One stood over him, his mouth opened like he would devour Cadvan on the spot. "Yes, yes, that is you. _Inareskai._" When he said it, Cadvan flinched, like he had whipped him. He placed his hands on either side of Cadvan's face, his fingers tangled up in his hair.

"Now, open your mind to me, _Inareskai_. I must see you."

Cadvan reeled, trying and failing to pull away. It was painful enough to have given up his Name, but now the Nameless One wanted to see into his mind, pick through the memories of his own secret self.

"N-No," he rasped, but realized it was far too late to refuse.

"_Inareskai_, reveal yourself to me!"

Cadvan might as well have been flung across the room with the strength of the command. He felt as though the Nameless One had smashed him to the floor, broken every bone in his body. In that gap of seconds, when Cadvan was gasping from the pain, the Nameless One struck and slipped into his mind.

Cadvan felt his presence like a rivulet of boiling water, washing over his consciousness. It hurt so badly he cried out, twisting in his grasp. His efforts did nothing, and the Nameless One begin to pick over flashes of memories, glimpses of people and places that had been.

_No, no, no, _the Nameless One whispered directly into his mind. _Let us start from the very beginning when you were just a small boy. _

Cadvan whined in response, the pain almost unbearable, _Please, you don't need to do this._

_ I _want _to do this, Inareskai. Now, relax, it'll make this less painful if you pull down your barriers. Or else I will have to break through them, a horrible ordeal. _

If it was his last act as a free man, Cadvan mounted every defense he could think of as the Nameless One begin sifting through his thoughts.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

At first, the dark and cold had been oppressive but bearable. Maerad had sat, curled up as tight as she could, head bowed against her knees. She saw nothing, heard nothing, and the nothingness served only to provide her with infinite time to think. She thought of her brother, but it was hard to think of Hem without imagining him in the hands of Hulls. She hoped Saliman was with him, but that thought drew her up short. How could she hope that kind-hearted Saliman was in danger? How could she wish that on a friend? But then, how could she not? She fixated on these thoughts as long as she could, because the alternative was to think of Cadvan.

_Don't think of that, don't think of him, don't think of what the Nameless One is doing. _

She tried for as long as she could to think of Hem and Saliman, but such thoughts were miserable and left her feeling colder than before. Her thoughts next wandered to Silvia and Malgorn, but that was no good. She wondered how they were now, tucked away in Innail. She tried to imagine her room that looked out over the gardens, but then she could only think of how she would never see that room again. She recoiled from the memory, but again, that left her with only one alternative.

_Don't think of him alone with the Nameless One and all his Hulls. Don't think about what they'll do to him._

She tried to imagine the far north and Arkan's palace. She thought of the nights under the clear, starry skies. She remembered the snows falling so thick it was like a wall. She imagined Arkan, standing beside her, his blue eyes bright as shards of ice. The curve of his smile, the look on his face when they sat together in his throne room. She wondered if he knew where she was now. Would he come for her if she called? Would he send a blistering winter wind to freeze Sharma's tower and rescue her? If Arkan appeared right now, threw open the door and broke the chain binding her, would she go with him?

_No, you wouldn't, because then you'd have to leave him behind. _Maerad straightened up. She didn't know how long she had sat there in the absolute dark, thinking of anything and everything but Cadvan, but now there was nothing left. _You'd have to leave Cadvan and how could you? _

Maerad heaved a dry sob and it echoed around her in the cell, but nothing else changed in the cold and dark. She surrendered and allowed herself to think of Cadvan. He wasn't weak, he wasn't afraid, Maerad knew Cadvan wouldn't so easily surrender to the Nameless One. And she knew, as the Nameless One had shown an interest in Cadvan, that he wouldn't kill him. She tried to imagine Cadvan fighting with the Nameless One, tried to picture him as he was when he battled Hulls, or the stormdog or the ondril. She remembered how his back would straighten and he would throw back his hair and his body would glow with an inner Light. She pictured him facing the Nameless One like that, strained but unbent, calling on the immense inner power that made him one of the greatest Bards of the age.

But after a while, that image faded. She couldn't drive out the memory of the wright that struck him down, the whiplashes on his face. She remembered how pale he had been when he was thrown off Darsor. She couldn't drive out the memory, and she began to think that when she saw him next, he would be broken by the Nameless One. She couldn't bear the thought of him like that.

She curled up into a smaller ball, but once she had thought of it, it was the only thing Maerad could think of. Over and over again, she saw the same scenes in her head: Cadvan, pale and shaking like he had been in Nelac's house. She didn't know how long she sat there, thinking of him, but it was like a weight that pressed down and down until every part of her hurt.

_Make it stop, _a voice in her whined. _Don't think about it, forget it. _

Desperate, Maerad tried to think of something else, but there was nothing else. There was just the dark and the cold and the emptiness. Maerad ran her hands though her hair, squeezing her eyes as tight as she could. If she could just make it go away, even for a little bit…

It was a seamless transition this time, like slipping into bed under warm blankets. One moment, she was a sobbing, small girl, the next, she was a powerful wolf, snuffling through her long snout. It was like a fog came down on her, clouding her mind and dulling her senses. It was easier to be a wolf; the cold wasn't so harsh and the dark no longer oppressive. She had claws, she had fangs, she had the muscle and bulk of a huge predator.

When the Hulls came for her, she knew long before they opened the door. They made no effort to cloak their footsteps and the sound of their feet pounding on the dungeon floor drew her from her slumber. Maerad's lips drew back, her fangs bared, and she waited, listening as they approached the door. She shifted her weight, her muscles protesting the sudden movement, but felt energy pulsing through her.

Maerad didn't wait. As soon as the light of the torch flickered across her wall, she lunged. The Hull holding the torch drew back with a furious cry, but the Hull opening the door was close enough that Maerad's claws scythed though its arm and chest.

"Damn you!" cried the Hull, stumbling back, clutching at the wound. "The Dark take you, you worthless whelp!"

Maerad snarled, a furious energy pounding though her, drumming in her ears. She waited for another Hull to come within reach, but they hung back, watching her through the door. One Hull eyed her, watching her fangs closely.

"Bitch," it said, and Maerad snarled deep in her throat. "Do yourself and Cadvan a favor and turn back. It'll go harder for him if you're not there."

_Cadvan, _Maerad thought, the name stirring something in her. She sniffed suspiciously at the Hulls, eyeing their hands closely. They had no weapons, but that didn't make the transition to a woman any easier. She felt significantly safer with her claws.

"Come now, Maerad. The longer you waste time here, the longer we leave Cadvan alone with our master."

She snapped her jaws once, to remind the Hulls how strong she was, but then sank back on her haunches and shifted back into herself. The Hulls watched her, clearly unhappy with her ability to move between girl and beast. The chain was still wrapped around her wrist, and she stood up at tall as it would allow her.

"Take me to him," she said, still feeling that rush of adrenalin being a wolf brough on.

"Careful, little Bard. You don't give orders here."

Maerad bared her teeth like a wolf. "Didn't you say we were wasting time?"

She thought the Hulls might snarl or hit her, but one just entered and unchained her. It gestured to the door and she marched by on uncertain feet. Perhaps they figured she would get what was coming to her once she faced the Nameless One.

When Maerad entered the throne room again, the first thing she saw was Cadvan, lying motionless on the floor. She shot across the room and dropped down to her hands and knees before him. His didn't look particularly worse for wear, no obvious injuries or signs of maltreatment, but his face was pale and covered in sweat. His breathing was shallow and rattled around in his chest. When she took his hand in hers, it was cold.

_Cadvan, Cadvan, please wake up! _She reached out with her mind. _Cadvan, I beg you, wake up!_

He groaned, a small sound that turned into a whine, and Maerad laid a hand on his cheek. "Cadvan, I'm here." Though Maerad didn't know what to expect, she squeezed his hand tighter and kissed his cheek gently.

This time, the groan was accompanied by a grimace, and then his eyes fluttered open. "Maerad?" he asked, and his voice was ragged, like he had been shouting. "Maerad, you're here?"

She half laughed, half sobbed and cupped his face in her hands. "Oh, yes, Cadvan, yes I'm here." She kissed his forehead and stroked the hair off his face. "I thought-I thought the Nameless One might have done something horrible. I didn't know if-" she broke off, unable to finish as her throat tightened. "But you're here, and you're unharmed."

"Maerad, is he here? Is the Nameless One-" Suddenly Cadvan's body convulsed, his back bending in two, and a ragged cry tore from his lips. Maerad screamed, clutching his hand tighter. He sagged a moment, gasping for breath before trying to speak again. "Whatever happens, whatever he says, don't give him anything, I beg of you! He wants the Song, he'll try and force-" Another set of tremors racked his body and Cadvan howled in pain.

"Cadvan, what has he done? Tell me, tell me what to do. I'll help!"

"_Can't_," was all he managed to rasp before a shadow crept over the two of them.

A shiver raced down her spine, something cold brushed her conscious. "This does look as though it's going quite hard on him, doesn't it?"

Maerad looked up slowly, still clutching Cadvan's hand as tightly as she could. "What have you done?" she demanded. "Release him!"

"I can't do that," said the Nameless One simply. "We're far beyond that now."

Cadvan relaxed in her grasp, his breathing becoming deeper. Maerad brushed her hand against his cheek but his eyes didn't open. "Let me help. Tell me how to help," she whispered.

"You can't," he croaked. His blue eyes fluttered open and Maerad saw he was in agony even now.

She kissed his forehead again, trying to shield him from the gaze of the Nameless One. "I'm not afraid of him, I'll protect you."

"No, you won't," said the Nameless One, and Maerad was horrified to find that he had bent down and his face was mere inches from her. She thought she could smell blood on his breath. She noticed with terrified clarity his dangling arms and clawed hands. Unbidden, an image on him dragging her away came to mind.

She leaned away but didn't release Cadvan. "What are you doing to him? What torture is this?"

The Nameless One found her words amusing, and reached out a clawed hand, dragging one nail along Cadvan's cheek. He curled his body in on itself, repulsed by the touch. "We're just getting to know each other, Cadvan and I."

"Release him," she ordered, and, in a show of bravery she certainly didn't feel, swatted at his hand to keep it off Cadvan. "Release him or I'll force you to."

"Do you hear that, Cadvan? She's a feisty one, little Maerad." He blinked his dark eyes, scanning her face. "You are so like Berludh in that regard."

"I swear on the Light I'll drive you out," she said, ignoring his statement about Berludh. Cadvan was shaking his head, but Maerad ignored him.

"Will you now?" asked the Nameless One with mild interest. He glanced at Cadvan, who looked horrified at the prospect.

Maerad turned Cadvan's face away from the Nameless One, so he looked into her eyes. At that moment another spasm shook through his body and he moaned, "Don't."

But Maerad wouldn't let Cadvan suffer so needlessly, not when she had the power to stop it. She felt herself slip into Cadvan's consciousness, searching for the Darkness of the Nameless One. She could feel his mind, enflamed by the force of the Nameless One, and threw herself relentlessly after him.

_Cadvan, Cadvan, reach out to me, _she said gently, feeling him out. _The two of us combined can-_

_It won't work, Maerad._

_We must at least try! Please, I can't bear seeing you like this._ Maerad waited for Cadvan's answer, but at that moment the Nameless One threw out a what seemed like a shard glass. Maerad flinched away from the blow, but it wasn't aimed at her. Beneath her hands, she felt Cadvan convulse.

_Get out! _Maerad cried, sensing the Darkness and chasing after it. _GET OUT! _Maerad summoned whatever White Fire was left in her, whatever wild Elemental fire still burned in her soul, and banished the Dark presence tormenting Cadvan.

For a moment, Cadvan felt the tremors subside and his body slump to the floor. Maerad had forced the Nameless One out, and he desperately tried to build up some semblance of a defense. _Now, now, __Inareskai, we were just getting better acquainted. _

Before Cadvan could prepare for a renewed attack, the Nameless One launched a spear of searing hot fire and it seemed to lodge somewhere by the base of his spine. Cadvan wailed, clutching his stomach like he was sick, and the Nameless One continued to sift through memories.

_Cadvan, he came back. I need you to touch my mind. We need to-_

_It _won't work_, Maerad, _Cadvan ground out, cherishing the feeling of her presence after so long with the Nameless One. It was like a ray of bright, warm sunlight in the darkness the Nameless One had created. _You can't drive him out._

_I don't understand. We can fight._

"I'm sorry," Cadvan croaked, and Maerad jumped to hear his voice instead of the soft contact of his conscious on hers. _"_No choice."

"What do you mean?" Maerad whispered, but Cadvan bit down on his teeth as another tremor raked his body. She looked up and saw the Nameless One watching them both closely. "What did you do?"

"Only what Cadvan allowed," the Nameless One said silkily. "We reached an agreement, he and I. He gave me his Name in exchange for your safety."

"No," Maerad breathed, looking down to Cadvan for confirmation. His gaze was averted, but he shook his head. Maerad felt a sob gather in her chest. "No, Cadvan, please tell me you didn't."

"I didn't have a choice," he managed weakly. "Not when he showed me what would become of you."

Maerad sat back on her knees, still holding his hands tightly. "I would have protected you," she said softly.

"No, you wouldn't have," said the Nameless One suddenly, enjoying the scene unfolding before him. Yes, there was something of Berludh in her, in the way she clenched his hands and stroked his face. They were both returned to him now. "I was not giving up my claim to Cadvan. Even if you had offered me the Song itself, I still would have gotten his Name in the end."

Maerad brushed his cheek with her hands. _I don't blame you, and I don't love you any less. You're still Cadvan, still my Cadvan._

Cadvan released a breath and smiled faintly up at her. _He'll be done with me soon. We'll be reunited._

Maerad nodded and drew Cadvan's head up to rest in her lap. He closed his eyes and tried to focus on the feel of her beneath him, imaging that they were somewhere else, maybe in Innail or Lirigon, sitting in a garden, soaking in the sun.

"If you have his Name you don't need to torture him like this," Maerad said.

"If he would reveal his mind to me, I wouldn't have to, but he's refused to take his barriers down." The Nameless One studied Cadvan with a professional curiosity. "His will is impressive, I'll admit. We've been at it for a few days now and I'm barely past his fortieth year. But it will go faster now that you're here."

Maerad felt her heart drop. "I won't help you hurt him."

The Nameless One shook his head slowly. "It won't be your choice."

Cadvan's eyes fluttered open. "You _swore_," he gasped. "You swore to leave her be."

"You've not been entirely fair to me, though, have you, Cadvan? You gave me your Name, but you refuse to reveal yourself to me. That's not _loyalty_. Perhaps I feel a little cheated." His hand snapped out, grasped Maerad by the arm, and jerked her violently upright. "Come, little girl."

"Wait!"

But the Nameless One led Maerad toward the throne, ignoring Cadvan's increasingly loud cries. She tried to tug her arm free, sickened by his touch, but the Nameless One had a grip like iron. She thought he could have crushed all the bones in her arm if he had a mind to. She summoned White Fire and it bit at his sleeves. The Nameless One cursed and struck her across the face. Maerad stumbled and landed heavily on the stone floor, eyes watering, cheek stinging. She could hear Cadvan pleas with the Nameless One in the distance.

"He is desperate for you." The Nameless One was behind her. He didn't touch her, but she could feel his breath on the back of her neck. "He gave me everything for you. It would be poor repayment if you were the cause of his destruction, wouldn't it?"

Maerad watched Cadvan try to rise up to his feet but collapse on his hands and knees. Her heart ached. "I won't be a part of this."

"But you are a part of this. You are the reason Cadvan is here now, no? He trusted you, followed you across all of Annar, and it brought him here. You're responsible for his captivity, you're responsible to everything that happens to him now." The Nameless One gently inhaled, he could smell fear. And shame. "Don't you want to help him?"

"I can't give you the Song," Maerad said sternly. "Even if I could, it's not in my power."

This intrigued the Nameless One. "You are the Singer."

"But I am not the Music," said Maerad, and for the first time in days, she smiled crookedly. "I know the words, but I can't play the Song without the Music." She turned, and feeling braver than she felt, smirked. "You thought you'd won, didn't you, by catching me?"

The Nameless One bared his teeth in a snarl, and the brief flaring of courage Maerad felt died. His face was too awful to look at. "Your brother," he hissed, and Maerad shuddered. She didn't want the Nameless One to even _think _of Hem. "He will bring the Music."

"He serves the Light. He won't come here, even if you have me." Maerad wasn't so sure of that, but it was better to say it anyway. "He won't sacrifice the Song for me."

The Nameless One laughed deep in his throat. "Perhaps not, but I can always find him. I can always bring your sweet little brother here, just as I did you. He will serve me. Children break so quickly."

In her mind's eyes, Maerad say a flash of Hem's smiling face and recoiled at the idea of him in Dagra. "You'll be hard put to catch him."

"Will I?" There was something unsettling about the Nameless One's tone, but before Maerad could think on it more, Cadvan gave another cry of pain and curled into a ball. "A conversation for another day, I'm sure. For now, we have Cadvan to discuss."

"I think we can both agree that you are responsible for this." Maerad shook her head but the Nameless One continued. "His love of you brought him to this, and now it will destroy him. _You _will destroy him."

"I won't!"

"You see, I can-I_ will_-rip down the walls he has erected around himself in due course, but in so doing, I will damage him beyond repair. He is a very powerful Bard, a strong-willed man, and to remove his barriers will drive him mad. You know this is true." And Maerad did. She remembered the Wright outside of Norloch and how it had almost killed Cadvan. "I have use of Cadvan and I need him sane for it, and I'm sure you would much prefer your friend in his right mind."

Mearad watched Cadvan twitch on the floor, gasping for each breath, and all she could think of was Cadvan swearing he would never serve the Dark, Cadvan cursing the Hulls, Cadvan who would rather die than betray the Light. But she also thought of Cadvan laughing with her as they traveled Annar, his stern mentorship giving way to brief glimpses of lightheartedness, his fleeting smiles, his innocence in sleep. And she thought of the dreadful feeling in her heart when the Hull had told her it was going to cut his heart out and how horribly alone she had felt for three days thinking he was being tortured. She loved him. She loved him like a friend and a mentor and…and some other kind of love she didn't understand. The kind of love that made a person selfish and careless.

_Curse the Dark and how it turns something so pure to something so awful, _she thought.

"What do you want?" she finally choked.

"Tell him to reveal himself to me," the Nameless One said smoothly. "Urge him to take down his barriers and reveal his mind. That way, I won't have to rip his very conscious apart to see him."

Maerad shuddered. If Cadvan revealed himself to the Nameless One, he would be a prisoner in body and mind. There could be nothing he could ever hide, no memory, no thought, no feeling. He would be worse than enslaved, because his very self would be open to the Nameless One.

_But if he doesn't, the Nameless One will still break his mind open, enslave him, and then leave him half mad_, she reminded herself.

The Nameless One could sense her wavering will. "Simply tell him to reveal himself to me. I give you my word, Maerad, that I will not destroy his mind, merely look."

"Your word means nothing," she murmured.

"My word is all you can hope for," he returned, and was gone.

When Maerad looked back up the Nameless One was on his throne, his gaze returned to Cadvan who was twitching on the floor. Every line of his body was agony, his hands clutching his hair, his back bowed under the force of the attack, his chest rising and falling ragged, uneven breaths. Maerad couldn't bear it.

She crossed the room and fell to her knees beside him. The Nameless One seemed to have momentarily stopped his attack, for Cadvan's breathing calmed. At her return, Cadvan's eyes open, scanning her face, her arms, for any sign of injury. She took him in her arms and managed to pull him to a kneeling position, her hands holding his face, so she could stare into his eyes. She thought she had never seen a man in so much anguish before.

"This has to stop, Cadvan," she whispered, and he drew a sharp breath. "I know you're trying to fight him, I know you serve the Light, but this will kill you."

He tried to form words, but the pain in his chest and throat was almost unbearable. "I can't betray the Light."

Maerad used her thumb to brush the sweat from his cheeks, and even that small movement of tenderness seemed to undo Cadvan. His hands came up and clutched her wrists like a vice, he couldn't let her go. Maerad kissed his forehead and it was hot. "Please, don't leave me here alone."

"I won't-"

"If you fight him on this, it will destroy you, and I will be left alone in this Darkness." Maerad knew it was cruel but couldn't bear the thought of Cadvan ruined by the Dark. "I know I'm asking you to forsake the Light for me, but-but you told me that love is the purest form the Light takes. I'm asking you to do this for me." A look of uncertainty entered his eyes. "Please, Cadvan, you promised to stay with me. Don't go now."

He looked away, a tear slithering down his cheek. "I don't know what I'll become." And Maerad realized this is what scared him most, the thought that the Nameless One could make him do or say anything once he had seen his inner most self. "What if he-what if he makes me do something terrible?"

"I'll still love you," Maerad said gently and Cadvan's eyes darted to her face. "I'll forgive you, I swear it on the Light. There is nothing you could do I wouldn't forgive. Just stay with me."

Cadvan breathed out long and hard, before raised his eyes to meet her face. "I won't leave you," he murmured.

Maerad's eyes moved over his face, wondering what he had done, when suddenly Cadvan's back arched. A guttural cry ripped from his lungs and he slumped over Maerad, head resting on her shoulder. The nails on his hands were digging into her while he pressed her against him. Maerad could feel Cadvan shaking against her. Behind them, the Nameless One was chuckling.

"You said you wouldn't hurt him!" she shrieked.

"It hurts a little," he responded, the smile in his voice. "He just needs to relax now."

Against her, Cadvan was breathing in short, shallow gasps. She could feel his heart pounding against her chest and for a terrifying moment, Maerad thought he might have a heart attack. Panicking, she began to sing, not anything in particular, just any song she could think of that was slow and soothing. She managed to free her hands, and with one she rubbed his back in circles, with the other, she stroked his hair.

The assault had only lasted a few minutes when Cadvan's breathing slowed and his body stopped convulsing. His weight slumped on Maerad, like he could barely support himself, and she strained to hold him up. She knew when the Nameless One left him because Cadvan gasped sharply and buried his face in the curve of her neck. Maerad felt his hot tears on her bare skin.

_It must have been torment, _she thought, reflecting on her own experience being scried. _But not by the Nameless One. It must have been a hundred times worse. _

Maerad shifted her gaze up to the Nameless One. "Are you pleased? Do you have what you want now?"

"Not really," shrugged the Nameless One. "But in time, I think, yes, I will get what I want from Cadvan."

He rose up, prowled toward them, circling the huddled pair. If the Nameless One had emotions, he would have felt joy in his victory, but instead he felt only hunger for more. They seemed so small and helpless to them, and he drank in their fear. He enjoyed the sensation of occasionally whispering, _Inareskai_, and feeling Cadvan wince. He enjoyed watching the two of them squirm at his feet, just like Andomian and Berludh had so many years ago. Their fear, their humiliation, their vulnerability answered something in him.

"We have so much work, the three of us, so many great deeds yet to do. You say the Song cannot be sung without the Music? So be it. We will just have to bring your brother here, and then the stor y will be complete once more. Andomian and Berludh and her brother."

"You're insane." It was Cadvan's voice, and it shocked the Nameless One as he had thought Cadvan in condition to argue. "You think we are the two from old, but we're not! They're dead, you killed them!"

The Nameless One disliked his outburst. "You're whoever I say you are, and if I say you are Andomian, who are you?"

Cadvan prepared to throw another curse, but the words died in his throat. It was like the Nameless One was strangling him. _Say Andomain. Just say Andomian, it'll be so much easier if you just say Andomain. _Cadvan pushed back against the will of the Nameless One, but the command seemed so simple. So much easier than all the struggle. _Why bother fighting when all you have to do is say Andomain? It's just a name. Say it, say-_

"Andomain," Cadvan finished, a look a disbelief spreading over his face. Maerad studied his face carefully. "What is this?" Cadvan demanded.

"My will," answered the Nameless One simply. "You can fight it. In fact, I expect nothing less of a Bard who has served the Light so long, but I will also wear you down. Slowly, but surely, you will break under my will. You will learn."

"If you have my Name," Cadvan hissed, "then there is no need for these games." It was a bitter truth Cadvan had barely had time to consider, but it was there before him. The Nameless One could order him to anything now.

"While that is true, it becomes quite dull," the Nameless One responded. "I could order you now to strike Maerad across the face, and you would struggle against me for a time, and then I would win out because I have your Name. But that does not mean I have broken you, I simply have the means to control you now."

Maerad followed the Nameless One with narrowed eyes. "They are one and same."

"They say the ends justify the means, but it is the means I am most interested in. I don't want to force Cadvan to do my will, I want him to do it because over the months and years I have torn away every part of him that would refuse me. I want to peel back every defense, every ward, every thought that denies me, so I am left with nothing but the pathetic excuse for a man he really is." The Nameless One was watching Cadvan's face carefully, but he seemed unfazed by the threats. "When I have power over his Name, but do not have to use it, that is when he is mine."

"It will be a long battle," Cadvan said thickly, betraying none of his disgust for his supposed future.

"I know it," the Nameless One said, almost cheerfully, "and I look forward to it. Too often my prisoners concede defeat and cower from me. But you, Cadvan, I think will provide some sport. For a time at least."

Maerad, who was still holding Cadvan, felt him shiver, but she didn't dare comfort him before the Nameless One. "I won't turn Hull."

"No, of course not. But there is so much time before us, an eternity to discover what you will become."

"No, there isn't," said Maerad. "You may fear death, but we don't, and one way or another, we will escape you."

"I'm not so sure you will, Maerad." Here Cadvan and Maerad both felt their hearts skip a beat. "You see, eternity is so long to spend without friends. Without something to keep me entertained. It was a pity to lose Andomian and Berludh the first time, I'm not sure I'll do it again."

Maerad glanced at Cadvan, wondering if he understood the Nameless One better than she did, but his face betrayed nothing. "You'll be hard put to keep us around."

"Anything will be possible to me once the Song is mine." The Nameless One looked up and they saw a Hull waiting by the door. He smiled, white teeth flashing like stars before glanced back at them. "And speaking of the Song, I trust my loyal servant here brings me news of our little Music maker, yes?"

"No!" Maerad breathed, her hold on Cadvan tightening.

"I had no other designs for your brother but to bring you to heel," the Nameless One admitted, "but as you have pointed out that there must be Music to make the Song, it seems young Cai has more a role to play yet."

"That's not-"

"But he is far away now," said the Nameless One. "It will be a while before he joins us. Until that time, I think it best we lock you two away somewhere quiet. Somewhere _dark. _Somewhere you can't cause me any more problems."

The Nameless One wandered over to his throne, ignoring the struggles of Maerad and Cadvan while they wrestled unsuccessfully with their captors. "We'll speak again soon," said the Nameless One as they were dragged away.

* * *

Silvia flew down the streets of Innail to the Healing Houses, Malgorn close on her tail. "Saliman, of all people!" Siliva was saying. "But he's as capable as Cadvan. This can't be."

They reached the Healing houses quickly, a few Bards pausing to ask what the First Bard was doing running around frantically after his wife. They were waved off as Siliva demanded to speak to the woman, Hekibel, who had come in the night before, crying of Hulls and captured Bards. Siliva and Malgorn were taken in short time to a small, clean room with a window that overlooked the street below. A woman sat in the window, clutching herself tightly. Beside her on the sill was a white crow. When it saw them, is gave a high-pitched shriek and danced about anxiously.

Silvia gave a meaningful look at Malgorn, hoping his gift with animals extended to anxious crows, then stepped into the room. "Hekibel?" asked Silvia gently, and the woman spun around. She was lovely, Siliva thought, eyeing her thick blond hair, big hazel eyes, and a delicate face. Her lower lip trembled, but she didn't give way to crying.

She frowned at Siliva. "Who are you? Why do you know my name?"

"I'm Silvia," she said, gesturing Malgorn forward. "And this is Malgorn, my husband and First Bard of Innail. You needed to speak to us?"

She blinked, looking between the two as if there had been some mistake. "Saliman told me to come. He said his friend was the First Bard…"

"Saliman is a friend of ours," Malgorn said steadily. He approached cautiously, and the crow snapped at him. "You can trust us."

"Forgive me," said Hekibel in a harsh voice, petting the crow to calm it down, "but a creature of the Dark would say much the same."

"You know of the Dark?" Malgorn asked sharply, wondering just what this poor woman had witnessed. "Are you sure?"

"Sure?" hissed Hekibel. Even though she was safely tucked away in flowering gardens of Innail, she still remembered the hateful Hulls with their red, demon eyes coming after her, the wers that cornered Hem, and that horrid beast that had attacked Saliman. She remembered the feeling of dread, creeping up her legs, rendering her helpless, and the sense that all happiness and light had gone from the world. "I could never forget those monsters."

Siliva gave a kind smile and said to Malgorn, _Be gentle. My heart tells me she speaks the truth, but I think she has suffered greatly for this knowledge. _

After another inspective look, Malgorn thought the same. _She does not trust us, Siliva. _

_ She is scared is all. _Siliva came a few more steps into the room, smiling kindly at the woman and indicating the bed. "You should rest, my dear, if you have battled the Dark. It is no small thing."

"I can't rest," she said firmly. "I said I would warn Innail. I promised I would, I s_wore _to Saliman I would warn the Bards…"

"And so you have, and done well," Silvia insisted. "Malgorn is First Bard, and I am one of the First Circle. We will call a council immediately and then send word to the Schools at once. But first, you must tell us what happened. What did you see?"

"What happened to Saliman and his ward?" Malgorn echoed.

"Hem," Hekibel whispered. "Poor Hem." As Hekibel did not speak further, Silvia took a moment and poured a glass of water for the girl. She placed it on the table beside the bed and waited for the woman to say more, but her face dropped, and she covered her eyes with her hands. The crow at the sill suddenly gave a mournful cry.

Malgorn fixed the bird with a thoughtful look and bowed his head slightly. _Hello there, crow. Did you see the Dark things Hekibel speaks of as well?_

The crow snapped his beak at them. _I don't like the shadow creatures. They took Hem! _

_ I don't like Dark creatures either, _said Malgorn, taking another tentative step forward. _They make me cold on the inside. What about you, crow?_

_ I am not _crow, _I am Irc. I am the King's Messenger. I am Hem's best, closest friend. _The crow cooed and his head dropped miserably. _Hem made them go, but they took Hem! They took him and Saliman! They took them away to that Dark place. _

Malgorn exchanged a brief look with Siliva. _Dark place, Irc?_

_ Far away in the desert and dark, _the crow said. _I don't want to go back, but if Hem is there…I won't leave Hem._

"Who is Hem?" Malgorn said to Hekibel.

"He's-he's-" Hekibel broke off. _She_ didn't even know who he rightly was, just that his sister was important, and he had to be protected from the Dark. "His sister is Maerad. I don't know who that is, but that's all they said."

Silvia and Malgorn both paused, exchanged a dark look. Malgorn said, "Was Maerad with you?"

"No," Hekibel murmured. "No, but we were going to her. Hem said she called him, and we were going to meet her, but then the Black Bards came, and the wers, and the demon…" she gave a sudden gasp and hugged herself tightly. "They attacked our camp at night. We tried to fight, Hem and Saliman fought with the monsters but it wasn't enough. They told me to run, to warn you." Suddenly the woman dissolved into tears. "I didn't want to leave!" she cried defensively and Irc snapped his beak at them, angry they had made his friend cry.

Silvia came to the girl's side, placed a hand on her waist, and led her to the bed. This time, Hekibel didn't even bother fighting, just sank onto the blankets and wept. She stroked her hair back and nodded Malgorn over.

"No one is blaming you," said Silvia softly. "It is no easy thing to fight Hulls, even for a Bard. Running was the only sensible thing."

"No, no you don't understand," she said through her tears. "I didn't want to leave…not Saliman."

Silvia shared a look with Malgorn. _Perhaps they were lovers?_

_ They would have been foolish to do something like that now, but all the more reason for Saliman to send her away, _Malgorn said, eyeing the girl. _Captive to the Nameless One is certainly no place for your lover, if that is indeed what she is. _

"My dear, not all hope is lost. You rode hard and arrived fast. Where were you when the attack happened? We can send out Bards to look for them, free them."

Hekibel drew a shuddering breath. "We were crossing the Hollow Lands. How long would it take to reach Den Raven?"

"Days of hard riding," said Malgorn, "if you were lucky. Perhaps longer."

"Then you can get them back?" She looked up hopefully. "Please, you can't abandon Saliman. And Hem, Hem is terrified of the Black Bards. He needs to get to his sister."

"We can send out riders," Silvia promised, "but you must rest. You can't punish yourself for this."

Hekibel gave Silvia a direct, forceful look. "When I am well enough to ride, I will go after them."

"That is unwise," said Malgorn at once. Hekibel's eyes narrowed and Malgorn quickly added, "You would be hard put to track them, and even if you found them, no woman can battle a Hull or wers. No, you must stay here. Stay where it's safe."

"And do what?" demanded Hekibel. "I have nothing and no one, and I cannot just sit by while my friends are dragged off to Dagra."

"You are not alone," assured Silvia. "You'll stay with us. Like Malgorn said, Saliman was a great friend of ours, and we would do him poor service to put you out. As for Dagra, we will send the fastest riders to try and head them off."

Hekibel sighed heavily, feeling a great emptiness in her heart. "You must warn the other Schools. You must tell them that Hem has been caught by the Dark. You must prepare for battle."

"We will," Silvia said, nodding her head, and wondering who Hem was and what role he played in this war. When she glanced at Malgorn, he looked unsettled. "We will send the riders now."


	6. Chapter 6

Hi everyone! This is a fairly short chapter and I think my updates might be a little sporadic for the next few weeks. I'm traveling for work and suspect my writing schedule will be messed up. But anyway, enjoy!

Chapter 6

Maerad fought with her captors as they drug her through the winding black halls of the Nameless One's strong hold. She was weak, having eaten very little in the weeks since her capture, but the mention of her brother had brought on a wave of fury and energy, and she threw herself against the will of the Dark.

"Stop it!" ordered the Hull pulling her. "Stop it, or I'll have you whipped."

"No, you won't," snarled Maerad, throwing her body weight in one direct, then the next to try and break his grasp. "Not so long as your master needs me to Play for him."

The Hull cursed and suddenly threw her against one of the walls. She fetched up against it hard, but before she could lunge forward, the Hull pressed a blade against Cadvan's cheek. He wasn't fighting-couldn't fight in his condition-and watched the Hull warily. He wasn't afraid of what it would do, but he was weary and would rather have avoided any more pain.

"I won't whip you. How about I just slice off his ear? He can certainly take orders with one." The Hull smiled at her indulgently. "Keep struggling, and I will."

Maerad tried to catch Cadvan's eye, but he was watching the Hull with the knife. She saw exhaustion in every line of his body, an emptiness in his eyes. Her shoulders slumped in defeat. "Don't hurt him. I'll go-I'll go quietly."

"As I thought," said the Hull. It removed the blade from Cadvan's cheek, and he breathed a sigh of relief. "Now, walk." The Hull ordered Maerad to walk before him and Cadvan, and she shivered, feeling painfully exposed to the Dark.

They walked for a while, down long halls, formed of the same black stone as the throne room, lined with torches. She saw no windows, felt no draft of air, but, as they had not encountered any stairs this time, guessed they were still quite high up. She was grateful for that, the memory of the cold, dark cellar still fresh in her mind. After a time, the Hull hissed at her to stop walking pointed to the right where a hall curved off, each side lined with doors. At the first door, the Hull removed a key from its cloak and inserted it into the door.

Maerad fell back and gripped Cadvan's wrist tightly. "I won't go without him."

"Listen to the orders from this one," the Hull holding Cadvan laughed. "She plans to set herself up as queen, no?"

"Have no fear, you two won't be separated," the other Hull said, its red eyes roving from her face to Cadvan's. "It's better you're together. Easier to keep you both in line."

_To watch the others suffer, _Cadvan thought hopelessly.

"Welcome home, little Bards," the Hull intoned as he moved into the room.

It was a small, circular room, made of the same stone as everything else. If there had been no door, Maerad would have thought she had simply stepped into another hall. There were torches along the wall, and, to her disgust, chains hanging limply on floor like snakes. She was so focused on the chains when she entered that she didn't notice the small, barred window at shoulder height until a draft of hot, dry air hit her.

"Come here, you," snapped the Hull, dragging Cadvan to the wall opposite the window. When he noticed the chains, the jagged edged cuffs, he dug his feet in.

"There's no need, I'm already bound to your master," he argued, trying to break the Hull's grip on him. The last thing he wanted was to be bound while Maerad was alone with Hulls.

"Perhaps I just enjoy the sight of the great Cadvan of Lirigon brought low," the Hull cackled.

"Let him go!" Maerad croaked, but finally overcome with annoyance, the Hull struck her hard enough in the face that she fell. Her cheek, still smarting from the blow the Nameless One had given her, stung and her eyes watered.

"I am _tired_ of your orders," snarled the Hull, slamming his fist against the wall. "Tired of your demands. Someone ought to cut your tongue out!"

"Wait." The chains quit jangling as Cadvan quit struggling. "Wait, you don't need to-"

"And I am _tired_ of your pleading," the Hull spat at Cadvan, flicking the blade in the light. "It is time the girl learned her own lessons, not hide behind your coattails, Cadvan. Surely, you agree that Maerad will learn better on her own than with you?"

The Hull rounded on Maerad while Cadvan strained against the chains, energy and fear renewed. She was pulling herself off the floor when the Hull grabbed her by her hair and tossed her a few feet closer to where Cadvan stood. Maerad groaned, clutching her head, but managed to lever herself up. The Hull approached her, twirling the blade around so it flashed rhythmically in the light. He studied Maerad as one might a painting or sculpture, before deciding what to do with her.

"She acts like a queen, shouting orders, giving commands as though we were her servants," the Hull murmured. "Well, stand Queen Maerad."

Maerad threw a nasty look at the Hull but stood anyway. If there was to be a struggle, she would not meet is kneeling. Cadvan felt uneasiness unfurl like a leaf in his stomach, there was something in the look of the Hull, like a wolf circling its prey. A hunger.

"Now, what should become of a great queen?" the Hull asked its partner. "How do we manage them?"

"Recabarra was the last queen to grace our halls," its companion pointed out. "She was a proud woman, too. Didn't know what was good for her."

"My oath to the Nameless One-"

"You will speak when spoken to, Cadvan," the Hull said sharply. Its eyes searched his face, saw the shadows in his eyes, and smiled toothily. "Do you know the first thing we did to Recabarra when she was brought here? The very first thing?"

The other Hull bared its teeth, leaned over Cadvan's shoulder so he felt the weight of its hands on him. When Cadvan didn't answer, the Hull behind him did, "How could I forget? She cursed us after, but she never forgot herself again."

"She was proper queen, a proper woman," said the Hull to Maerad, coming to stand between her and Cadvan. "It's the small things, you see, that break a woman. So, we started simple. And she was made to learn the new order, no longer a queen, no longer a proper woman, just a slave." The Hull paused, watching Maerad's face, and leaned in to whisper. "Take your clothes off."

Whatever Maerad had been expecting, that wasn't it. "W-what?"

"Take them off," repeated the Hull, gesturing with his knife at her tunic and trousers. "You haven't a right to clothes."

Maerad shook her head wordlessly and the Hull narrowed its eyes. "Take them off, or I will divest you of them myself."

The Hull circled around Maerad so that she was once against standing before Cadvan. He hadn't heard the conversation a looked questioningly at Maerad. The expression on her face was one of abject horror, and she looked down, unable to meet his gaze. The Hull behind her smirked it its companion, and Cadvan frowned at their clear enjoyment.

"Now, if you please," it said.

Maerad turned her face away, looking to the window. She wondered what would happen if she refused, she wondered if she _could_ refuse. It wasn't-well, it wasn't awful. It certainly wasn't torture. But the idea of her body, naked and bared to the will of the Hulls left a particularly bad taste in her mouth.

_You're being irrational, _she thought. _It's not like a tunic protects you any better from their knives. Is it really worth the struggle?_

But, something inside her said, yes, it was. Something told her that if she allowed herself to be undressed by the Hulls, she would allow them anything. And, if she was being honest with herself, being naked before Cadvan made her face hot with embarrassment, though she couldn't have said why.

The Hull lost its patience. With a violent jerk, it gripped the collar of Maerad's tunic in both hands and ripped. Maerad gave a little cry, like she had been burned, and Cadvan shouted, appalled. The Hull chuckled, wrenching the two halves of the shirt off Maerad's arms. She wore a thin cotton undershirt, something to keep the coarse material of the tunic from irritating her skin, but that felt like flimsy fabric now.

"Now, Maerad, shall you do the rest yourself, or would you prefer my help?"

"Leave her be," Cadvan ordered, attempting to step forward, while Maerad unlaced her boots and kicked them off.

"It's different with women," the Hull told Cadvan over Maerad's shoulder. "With men, it takes a display of force-like you and your Name-but with women, the small humilities go a long way." He used the tip of his knife to flick Maerad's back, an urging to get a move on. "Hurry up, _Queen_ Maerad."

Cadvan opened his mouth to tell her it would be okay, but snapped it shut when he saw her shaking hands move to the waist of her trousers. He looked away, toward the window where he could faintly see stars. _Don't look at her, don't make this worse. _

Maerad noticed Cadvan's averted gaze and felt a briefest surge of relief. She untied the string holding her trousers closed, but before she could pull them down, the Hull stopped her. _What is it now? _she wondered.

"Cadvan, that's quite rude," the Hull admonished, having seen Cadvan's turned face. "Afterall, Maerad is your student. She deserves your undivided attention."

Cadvan breathed out slowly, wishing he was anywhere else just then. _Look in her face, hold her gaze, don't look down. _Cadvan switched his gaze back, caught Maerad's eye, and tried, miserably to give her some sort of encouraging look. _What's wrong with you? She doesn't need your encouragement! She probably thinks you want this._

Cadvan's look was enough to calm Maerad down. This was nothing to him, her body meant nothing to him. _He's not going to think less of you. _She tugged slowly on the trousers, they slid over her hips. The Hull have an impatient growl and yanked them down. Maerad drew a sharp breath, swatting its hands away and stepped out of the trousers. The Hull kicked them aside.

"Are you _quite_ done?" Cadvan growled, pointedly ignoring Maerad's bared legs. Maerad thought he seemed almost unnecessarily outraged.

"No," the Hull returned simply, pulling on the hem of her undershirt. "But almost."

Maerad's hands clenched into fists. "I'll freeze without clothes."

"Freeze, here?" The Hulls laughed together. "It's the desert. Stop playing games, girl. Take this shirt off and be done with it."

She carefully peeled the undershirt off, turning away from Cadvan's gaze and taking her time to fold it and lay it neatly on the ground. She crossed her arms across her chest before turning around to face Cadvan again, her face hot, tears pricking at her eyes.

_It means nothing, _she kept saying to herself. _It means nothing. Nothing. Nothing._

But it did mean something. She knew Cadvan wasn't enjoying this look at her, wasn't using it as an excuse to ogle her, but it felt wrong for him to see her. Perhaps it was that he was fully clothed, and she was being presented to him, like a display, something for him to assess. She felt very small, very helpless.

Cadvan tried to keep his eyes on her face, but noticed the red in her cheeks, and then looked down at her feet. He was thinking of anything else but the fact that Maerad was naked before him. The Hull showed its teeth in a snarl, furious at Cadvan's refusal to look at the girl. What was the point in having her like this if he was just going to ignore her? It grabbed her wrists and jerked them apart so her body was bared to Cadvan.

"No! No, stop!" Maerad shrieked, trying, and failing, to free her hands. Even when she had been in Gliman's Cot, even when Burk had tried to rape her, Maerad had not felt so vulnerable before. And it was Cadvan.

"Come now, why so shy? I thought you were quite beautiful. Of course, it's been a long time since I've given thought to a woman's beauty, but lucky us, we have a man qualified to judge. Cadvan, what say you?"

Cadvan was still determinedly looking at her feet, but he could hear Maerad's short, sobbing breaths. He didn't need to see her like this, he didn't need to make this worse. Unfortunately, the Hull behind him grabbed a hank of his hair and forced his face up. Maerad saw something in Cadvan flinch, and she remembered, as if from months ago, the night on the White Owl. The complex adult emotion she didn't understand then, she recognized now as the complicated mix of respect, admiration, possibly even love. And desire.

Maerad's stomach ached at the sight of it. She knew it wasn't the same as the crude, violent impulses of the men in Gilman's Cot, but it was there all the same. It was longing and it was voracious, and it was Cadvan. _Her Cadvan. _What did he want? What would he do? Tears began to fall freely, dribbling down her chin and dropping on her toes.

"Well, Cadvan? Does she suit you?"

Cadvan, for his part, chanced one fleeting glance at her, eyes flicking from her face down to her toes. He carefully arranged his face into a blank expression so as not to humiliate her, but there was no denying that she was beautiful. Her face, framed by a mess of black hair, seemed to be made of nothing but cheek bones and her eyes were bright and blue, shining in the dark. She had a long neck set upon narrow, shaking shoulders. He spent as little time as he could, glancing over her torso, but still saw her chest, rising and falling in time with her terrified breathing, small, round breasts, narrow waist and flared hips, skinny pale legs. She was beautiful, and Cadvan had a strong desire to hold her against him, to protect her nakedness from the eyes of the Hulls at the very least. But also, to hold her himself.

When he looked at her face again he saw there were silent tears dribbling down her cheek, her lower lips trembling. She couldn't look at him, though, and it that hurt Cadvan more than he cared to admit. He knew it was his fault, the tears in her eyes. Didn't she know him well enough by then to know he would never hurt her? Did she trust him to treat her respectfully? Another tear fell off her cheek and Cadvan clenched his hands into fists.

This wasn't how Maerad should have come to be undressed before him. He'd forced himself to give very little thought to Maerad in any other way but as his friend, but in all his guilty dreams, he had always pictured a more delicate undressing. Carefully, with many caresses and kissing and promises of love, he would have removed her clothing piece by piece, giving her ample opportunity to stop him if she wished. This harsh undressing and her stark nudity made him feel like the Hull had struck him in the gut.

"Are you trying to humiliate her?" Cadvan demanded. "I think she should have very little shame in her form."

"Perhaps I'm trying to humiliate you," the Hull answered sweetly, smirking.

Cadvan shook his head. "This may come as a surprise to you, but this isn't the first time I've seen a woman naked."

"It is the first time you've seen your _student _naked, though."

"That means nothing."

"Oh? So, one woman's body is as good as the rest?" The Hull bent over Maerad's shoulder, catching her eye. "That's not very nice of him to say, is it? Quite callus, don't you think?"

Maerad turned away form the Hull, but he twisted her wrists with one hand, and place its other on the flat of her belly. Maerad gave a horrified cry and Cadvan jerked as far forward as his chains would allow. Two of the Hulls fingers drummed a dull tempo on her abdomen, and Maerad could feel vomit in the back of her mouth. This was far worse than Gilman's men, far worse than anything she could have imagined.

"If one woman is as good as the next, then you don't care what happens to her?" the Hull asked Cadvan, now dragging its nails up and down, wondering just how far it could go before she screamed. When the tip of one it's clawed hands brushed against her breast, Maerad screamed and Cadvan cursed.

"Take your hands off her!" he snarled.

"So, you _do _care?" the Hull stopped moving its hands. It had no interest in Maerad's body beside the anger it evoked in Cadvan. "You would prefer me not touch her?"

"I swear on the Light that I'll kill you if you lay a hand on her," Cadvan warned.

"Oh, really?" the Hull asked, before slapping its hand on her hip with enough force to bruise. It smiled at Cadvan. "I think you ought to remember where you are and who you serve before you start throwing your curses around, Cadvan. You serve _our _master now."

Cadvan bared his teeth in a snarl. "Your master, not you."

The Hull studied Cadvan a long time, searching his face for fear. When he didn't find it, he shrugged carelessly, and tossed Maerad to the wall opposite Cadvan. "We'll see who you serve soon," it said, forcing Maerad to her knees and looping chains about her wrists. It restrained her hands behind her, so she had no choice but to kneel naked, facing Cadvan. "When all is said and done and the Nameless One breaks you, I'll find you, and I'll make you crawl on your hands and knees like the dog you are."

Cadvan watched the Hull carefully but it seemed to have lost interest in Maerad. "Dogs bite," Cadvan pointed out.

"And they get whipped for it," the Hull rejoined, gesturing to its companion. "Come, these little love birds have been kept in different cages far too long, let's leave them to each other."

Cadvan kept his face carefully blank until the Hulls had left the room, locking the door behind them. He sent out his Bard hearing, waiting for the footsteps to recede, though it was difficult over the sound of Maerad's soft sobbing. When they were gone, Cadvan seemed to crumple in on himself, leaning back against the wall and sinking to the ground. He covered his eyes with his hands, drew a rasping breath.

Maerad watched Cadvan through her tears, trying but failing to find the words that might comfort him. He seemed to her a man who was beyond words, beyond solace. He did not weep, but that seemed worse to her, for his silence was like a weight on them both. She had never seen him look so painfully vulnerable.

"Forgive me, Maerad," he croaked, still not looking up. "Forgive me for failing you, for failing the Light. For allowing this to happen."

Maerad didn't know what _this _he was referring to but wished more than anything she could reach him, hold his hand in hers, and stroke his hair. "You know this isn't your fault," she said firmly. "Whatever you did-whatever you swore, I am as much responsible as you. I brought you here, I'm the reason the Nameless One captured you. Besides," she said softly, "I told you. I'd forgive you anything. I know why you did what you did."

"That doesn't make it any easier." Cadvan lifted his face from his hands, but pointedly looked out the window. "I-I feel _different _on the inside. Darker."

Maerad's studied Cadvan's slumped form on the floor, looking like all the life had gone out of him. She realized he wasn't looking at her out of respect. "You're not," Maerad insisted. "You're exactly the same as the day we met."

Cadvan chuckled darkly. "Half dead, begging for milk in a rundown hamlet?"

"You look much the same, yes," Maerad said with a sad smile. "A brave knight, bent, but unbroken. You had a Light so pure about you even I, who had lived only in fear of men my entire life, trusted you enough to run off into the wild with you."

"You had so little choice," Cadvan said thickly, but she saw his shoulders relax just a little.

"I saw you, and I see you now," Maerad continued. "I fled into danger from danger, because I _trusted _you, and I know now that it was the Light in you. It was love." At that word, Cadvan glanced back at her, barely enough to show her he had heard. "By the Light, Cadvan, I must have spent the last year of my life walking around blind to not see it was love. What else could have driven me to go with you? To ask to be your student? To leave Silvia? It's love."

Cadvan sighed, turned away from the window, and looked back to Maerad. She was still kneeling, still sniffling, her face still flushed with shame, but her eyes were bright and focused entirely on him. "Curse the Dark for twisting love like this," Cadvan breathed.

"It can't, Cadvan," Maerad whispered. "Not really. You love with the same love as before, and yes, the Nameless One can use that love to force you to do things, but it can't change that feeling. It's still as true, as pure."

He shook his head, running his hands through his hair. "I'm afraid the Nameless One will try and change that. I'm afraid he'll make me do something so…so _Dark_ I'll never be able to come back."

"Look at me," Maerad ordered and Cadvan returned his gaze to her face. "Your guilt is mine. I'm the one who led you into the Dark."

"This is not something you can take from me," said Cadvan, studying her face carefully.

"Let me help you bear the burden then," she said and saw a flash of gratitude before he lowered his eyes. They sat in silence a long while, Maerad shivering and Cadvan keeping his eyes firmly on the ground.

"Do you think he really has Hem?" Maerad finally asked in a small voice.

Cadvan sighed. "I think we should prepare for the worst, whatever that may be."


	7. Chapter 7

Author's Note: I'm really sorry everyone about not updating this sooner. I've actually been abroad the last couple weeks and was caught in the middle of trying to get flights back to the US, and didn't have as much time (and wasn't really in the right headspace) to work on this. But, now I'm back and hoping that things can get back on a regular updating schedule!

Chapter Seven

Irc shifted uncomfortably on the expansive bed, burrowing deeper into the Hekibel's shoulder and tucking his head in her hair. She barely stirred in her sleep, murmuring something the crow didn't understand. He cooed softly, nibbling a lock of her hair, but it just wasn't the same. Irc missed Hem fiercely, and this woman, as kind as she was, wasn't his human.

Outside, in the predawn light, an owl's mournful cry echoed through the window and Irc sank down deeper. He tried again to listen to the steady breathing of Hekibel and use it to lull him to sleep, but it simply wasn't as relaxing as Hem. The owl hooted again, this time closer, and Irc gave a terrified squawk before taking frantic flight. He wasted little time, shooting through the bedroom door that was slightly ajar and farther into Silvia and Malgorn's house. He found his way unerringly to the kitchen where he settled down between a number of jars, each bursting with different herbs. He waited until the light of the rising sun brushed the wall to emerge, snap up some bread that was left out from the dinner before, and then slink back into his hiding place, eating sadly.

_I suppose I'm not surprised to find you here, Irc._

Irc gave a startled cry, dancing on the spot and knocking over one of the pots of thyme. Malgorn had entered the kitchen but hadn't taken a step past the door. Irc cast him an unfriendly glance, but Malgorn smiled crookedly and came into the room slowly, heading for the pot that sat upon the great stove. He felt the gaze of the crow on him as he struck a flame in the big belly of furnace and waited for the water to boil. Though Irc didn't move closer, he chirped a little when Malgorn rummaged in one of the cupboards for some chocolate covered almonds.

_You might like some of these instead of that plain bread, _Malgorn said, holding out an almond. _A sweeter way to start the day, at least._

_ What are these? _Irc stretched his neck so his head was all the way out. _Small, small fruits?_

_ Something close, _Malgorn answered, popping one in his mouth and chewing it thoughtfully. _Sweet and hardy. The type of stuff us northerners eat to stay full in the cold._

Irc gave a sharp, irritated cry. _These northern birds are wolves! They keep me up, swooping down like ghosts on prey and then shouting about it all night. How do you sleep when they are about?_

Malgorn chuckled and sat down before the bird. He placed three almonds on the table before Irc and watched the bird snap one up. It took a moment for him to crack the shell, but once he did, Irc shuffled his wings, satisfied. He emerged slowly, still keeping a close eye on Malgorn, but as he picked up the second almond, he settled onto the table.

_We are used to the sounds up here, you know, _said Malgorn. _The cry of owls and wolves are music for us like the sigh of the wind. Sometimes, on nights when they don't hunt and I don't hear them it makes me anxious. _

_ Brain addled, _Irc confirmed, like it was a terrible diagnosis.

_ I've been told that before. _Malgorn watched Irc swallow the third almond and placed more on the table. _But I have a great love of the voices of the animals. They soothe me unlike the voices of people._

Irc paused in his eating, looking up at Malgorn. _Have you heard the song birds in the south?_

_ I have, _said Malgorn, his face alight. _A cacophony of music!_

Irc rolled his eyes. _Such showy birds, feather heads all of them! Trying to impress the dour looking females. Not me, _he added primely, like it was below him. _I am the King's Messenger._

_ No she-crows caught your eye? _Malgorn asked and gave him a rascally wink.

_ I'm too busy for she crows, _Irc said firmly, but before he could help himself, said, _But I have many shiny things! Shiny jewels to impress the she-crows if I wanted. I'd have the brightest nest-if I wanted._

_ I don't doubt it, _Malgorn said seriously.

_ Your nest is not very shiny, _Irc commented, looking around. _Plenty of treats, but not very bright. _

_ No, I suppose it is not, _admitted Malgorn. _It's a surprise any she-crows make their nest here. _

Irc bobbed up and down in agreement. _But I am too busy for she-crows. I have my human to look after._

Malgorn stood and poured the now boiling water into a mug, adding tea leaves and letting the calming scent fill the air. He rejoined the crow, sitting the water casually. _Your human Hem? _

Irc didn't answer. Instead his head dropped and the bit of almond he was about to eat he let slip out. It would have been a comical slump but Malgorn sensed how truly devastated the bird was.

_Hekibel said you took good care of him, _Malgorn continued. _She told us that you never left his side, always watching over him like an older brother. That must have been difficult, what with the running around he did._

_ It was, _agreed Irc, still not looking up. _Especially when he went away to the Dark place with all the brain twisted humans._

That one was harder to translate for Malgorn. _Brain twisted?_

_ Sick in their brains, _Irc insisted. _Humans gone crazy._

That certainly didn't sound good. _Were these humans like Hem and Saliman? Could they speak to you too?_

_ No. They were all quiet and empty on the insides. _Irc shuddered and his feathers stood on end. _They had dead eyes._

_ Where did they come from, do you know?_

_ From all the families of all the cities the Dark ones burned. _

Malgorn licked his lips nervously. _These were children then?_

Irc looked up, caught Saliman's eyes and blinked slowly. _All children._

Malgorn privately cursed the Nameless One and his use of children to fight his wars. But still…brain twisted meant very little to him. _Hem escaped the place, though?_

_ I helped! _Irc said firmly. _I carried messages for him, I led him away, I even helped him get away from the cold shadow city. I led him all the way back to Saliman. _

_ That was very smart of you, _Malgorn agreed. _What was this shadow city?_

Irc looked appalled at the questioning. _A terrible place. It made me sick. _

_ You said you were in a Dark city in a desert. Did you ever hear Saliman or Hem call it by a name? Was it called Dagra? _

Irc looked away. _I don't know names of Dark places. _

_ Did you see any structures there you could describe?_

_ A high tower, _said Irc, but then shuddered and snapped his beak. _There was a monster in the tower. I flew away as fast as I could. _

_ A monster in the tower? _Malgorn's eyes widened. Certainly, this crow had not seen the Nameless One himself? _What did the monster do?_

_ Attacked a Black Bard, _said Irc. _I didn't watch, though! I hid and waited for the two to turn their eyes away before I left. _

This was again confusing. Had Irc seen the Nameless One? If he had, why had the Nameless One attacked a Hull? Was there dissention among the ranks of Hulls? Malgorn tried to gently push for more information, but thinking about what he had seen made Irc feel ill, and he wouldn't budge on the topic.

_You were courageous all the same, Irc, to venture into the tower, _said Malgorn after a time. _There are not many Bards, even great Bards, who would go where you went. _

Irc considered this. _I don't want to go back. But I will if it will help my friend Hem. _

_ That may not be necessary, _said Malgorn. _I have already sent out the riders to look for Saliman and Hem._

_ But I will go if they can't find them, _Irc said firmly, and Malgorn was taken with the bird's determination and depth of love for the boy.

Malgorn gave him a forlorn smile and dumped the rest of the almonds. _I think Hem would like that. _As Irc munched greedily, Malgorn stood and bowed to the bird. _Thank you for speaking to me, Irc. If you'll excuse me, I must begin my day. _Irc accepted the bow with a slight inclination of his head but was too busy try to break another almond to give him much more attention.

Malgorn left the kitchen in search of Silvia and found her in their rooms, brushing out here hair. When he entered, he didn't speak at once, and instead watched her run the brush through her hair till it gleamed. It was this image of her, so domestic and sitting in the light of the new sun, still in her pale bedclothes through which he could just see the gentle curves of her body, that always took his breath away. Whenever he felt himself despairing, he thought of Silvia, and it was something like this.

"My love," she said, looking him in the reflection of the mirror. She placed the brush down, inspected his face carefully. "What's the matter?"

He blinked, smiled. "Nothing, nothing is the matter. I was just lost for thought." Malgorn came into the room and pulled a chair beside Silvia and she turned to face him. "I've been speaking to Irc. I like not the things he said. I think he spoke of children in the army of the Nameless One."

Silvia's eyes widened. "_Children_? That is dark news indeed if it's true."

"I don't think the bird was lying," Malgorn said softly. "I also think he flew to the Dark tower. I think he might have seen the Nameless One." Malgorn then told Silvia of the strange description Irc had given him of the Dark one fighting with a Hull.

"Why would the Nameless One fight with his own servant? And how could one of his servants challenge him?"

"It must have been Imank," Malgorn said decidedly. "What other Hull could even hope to survive him?"

"But this may be good news, no? If the Dark is warring among itself," Silvia asked.

"Maybe," Malgorn hedged. "But I think it is too much to hope that Imank will destroy the Nameless One, and the more I think of it, the more I think it bodes ill that Hulls captured Maerad's brother."

"I wish I knew where Maerad and Cadvan were. I like the idea of them out in the wild not at all. Especially since they went looking for Hem. What if the Hulls find them-"

"Don't think of it," said Malgorn sternly. "Maerad and Cadvan are more than capable of fending off Hulls."

"So too was Saliman," Silvia said darkly. She stood up suddenly, her face inscrutable. "How long before the riders we sent out send back word?"

"They've only been gone three days. We can't expect them to find Saliman and Hem so quickly."

"And the riders to the Schools? Has any news reached Lirigon yet?"

Malgorn seemed to flinch. "It'll take time."

"I feel there is not time," said Silvia. She couldn't say why, but the idea that the riders hadn't reached Lirigon was painful for her. It was as if there was a moment approaching, a desperate, vital moment that, if they missed, would have dire consequences. It left an ache in somewhere near Silvia's middle. "I think there is a storm coming."

"We've already ridden the storm," said Malgorn, thinking of the Landrost and his armies that had only barely been turned away from Innail.

"I don't think we have, not yet." Silvia glanced out the window, to where the sun was even now beaming down on her flowers. "I think we saw the outriders, but I don't think we saw the storm. It will fall soon."

"I feel it," Malgorn admitted, unhappy but unable to articulate it in quite the way Silvia was. "I think we should send a raven to find Cadvan and Maerad."

"Even if we did find them what would we do? Warn them not to go looking for her brother?" Silvia crossed the room, searching for a gown. When she couldn't find the one she wanted, she threw aside the clothes, more frustrated than usual. "It's as if no matter what direction we turn, nothing is right. Do you think it's too late?"

Malgorn eyed Silvia closely. "Too late for what?"

"I don't know, but it feels like it, no?" said Silvia ruefully. She sat on the bed, looking out the window to the city proper. "And how are the people of Innail? Have they finally forgiven the Bards for lagging?"

"Not even close. There is talk now that the we are purposefully ignoring their calls for help. That we have prioritized the School over the town and if the need for help should ever arise again, they will not be so fast to send their fathers, husbands and sons."

Silvia massaged her face tiredly. "We sent healers!"

"Not enough." Malgorn was watching Silvia now, the exhaustion that bent her shoulders seemed like an unforgiving weight. "I am worried, Silvia. If the people are up in arms-even without a war-it may lead to tension between us. What if such unrest gives rise to aggression?"

"Don't say that," Silvia said in a tight voice. "We cannot contend the will of the Dark and the people at the same time."

"I hope it will not come to that," Malgorn answered heavily, looking out the window. Beyond the school, he could just see the town proper. From such a distance it looked so peaceful. "We've just only barely escaped the Dark. It would be poor luck indeed if it takes a new form and comes again."

* * *

Hem bent double and retched, but, as there was nothing in his stomach, only bile came up. It burned his throat and stung his eyes. His hands were still bound, so he couldn't wipe his mouth, and he felt a fleck of the stuff on his chin. Embarrassed, he looked down.

"Hem needs water," Saliman told the Hulls imperiously. "He's been ill."

"If he's ill now, he'll keep getting sick. I'm not wasting water on him," the Hull replied with a twisted smile.

"If he keeps at it, he'll be dehydrated, and then he'll die." Saliman fixed the Hulls with dark looks. "Then how will you explain it to your master?"

The Hull's smile turned into a grimace. It was tired of Bards, tired of children. The Hull wanted nothing more than to drag Saliman off the horse and beat him to death. It felt its hand clench around the reins of the horse, thinking…yes, just a quick thrashing, something to remind both Bards who gave orders, and then tell the Nameless One they struggled.

"Shall we have a lesson then?" the Hull asked its companions in the tongue of the Den Raven. It knew the Bards couldn't understand him. "A reminder of their place?"

"We were told to bring them back unspoiled," one Hull said, but there was a longing in its voice. They'd had the Bards for over a week and had been forced to treat them with something akin to kindness. It wore on the Hulls.

"An accident," said the first Hull. "One escaped and we had to teach them a lesson?"

"Oh, now that sounds fair," said the third Hull. "And so long as they both come back capable of serving our Master, why not?"

The first Hull called a halt and dismounted. It approached them both, eyeing the boy closely. Children were a favorite of the Hulls, their fear gave way to screams much faster. Saliman, who was seated behind Hem, tried to tuck him against his chest. Their horse shied away as the Hull came nearer, and finally kicked out its front legs.

"Calm the beast or I'll slaughter it and make you walk," the Hull ordered lazily.

Saliman whispered to the mare in the Speech, beseeching her to relax, and she calmed marginally. "Horses have good senses," Saliman commented to no one in particular.

"It's a mindless beast," the Hull returned, and drew level with them. Its red gaze rested on Hem, who felt his stomach flip at the attention. "And speaking of senseless creatures, I'll have that boy here."

Saliman's eyes flashed in outrage. He was far too familiar with Hem's past dealings with Hulls to allow him to go freely. "He's fine with me."

"It wasn't a question." The Hull watched as Hem's eyes grew wider. "Come, you ought to be at the head of the procession when we arrive in Den Raven. Ride with me."

"I won't," said Hem firmly, nestling deeper against Saliman. "I won't share a horse with a creature of the Dark."

"I'll whip your mentor until he collapses," the Hull returned smoothly, relishing the idea of an altercation.

_Don't fear, Hem, _Saliman said, though he sounded uncertain.

"I'll make a deal with you, boy," said the Hull, leaning forward and maintaining eye contact. "I won't make you ride with me. You can walk before my horse, lead us the rest of the way to Dagra."

_Just stay on the horse-_

_ Don't be ridiculous, _Hem snapped. _If the choice is between having you whipped or my walking the rest of the way to Dagra it's a simple choice._

_ I don't like it, _Saliman said uneasily. _I don't want us separated in the hands of the Dark._

_ Neither do I, _Hem admitted, straightening up in the saddle, _but it's a small concession given the alternative._

Saliman seemed ready to protest, but Hem had already eased forward in the saddle, eyeing the Hull. "You'd best untie me if you plan to get me off this horse."

The Hull clicked its tongue at the imperious tone of voice, clenching a riding crop tighter. By the Dark, he detested the child! "You don't give orders here, Bard brat."

"Fine I'll stay on the horse," Hem snapped back, his fear of Hulls sharpening his tone. It earned him a sharp slap across the face, and he could taste blood in his mouth.

The Hull loosened the bindings on Hem's wrists and he carefully dismounted. The Hull switched its gaze up to Saliman and a wide smile spread over it's pale, pappery face. Saliman frowned wishing now more than ever that Hem was back in the safety of his protective embrace. He watched while the young man passed by the mounted Hulls, his sense of dread growing.

"To the front of the line, boy," the Hull hissed, following closely behind him on his horse.

Hem flinched at the feeling of the Hull behind him but marched past the rest and waited, his gaze firmly on the horizon. The first Hull approached him, red eyes agleam, swinging a noose before him playfully. It stopped before Hem, flicking its gaze up and down the length of the boy, as if measuring him for something. Saliman, at the back of line, strained forward in the saddle.

"Now, we can't have you running off, raising alarms all over Annar and the seven kingdoms," the Hull reasoned politely. "And I imagine you're keen to see your sister again."

Hem didn't answer, but he swallowed loudly, eyeing the rope nervously. Without any prompting, Hem held out his hands, crossed at the wrist, in a display of submission. The Hull stared at them a moment, its smiling widening.

"Try again, boy," the Hull smirked while the others cackled. Hem lowered his wrists, his gaze narrowed. "You act like an animal, you can walk as one."

Disgust rose up in Hem's throat, quickly accompanied by an unreasonable anger. "I'm not wearing that."

"It wasn't a question," the Hull returned, and threw the noose at Hem. It struck him harder than necessary in the face, and without thinking, Hem tugged the rope sharply, sending the Hull sprawling forward.

_Hem! _Saliman cried, but the damage was done.

Furious at the slight, the Hull lunged forward and one of its clawed hands constricted on Hem's throat. Hem's air was instantly cut off and he scrabbled at the Hulls hand frantically. The Hull regained its footing and towered over Hem, enjoying the slow change of color in the boy's face: first pale bronze, then the color of dry soil, and now pale with blue around his lips. Hem's eyes were watering, his mouth opening and closing on no air, he felt himself going dizzy staring up into the horrid face of the Hull.

"You'll kill him!" Saliman shouted and urged the horse forward. She hadn't gone more than a few paces when the other two Hulls cut the mare off.

"The boy should have a whipping for that. He's lucky it's only this," one said, gleaming at Saliman as if daring him to disagree. "A mouth like that…you ought to have taught him his manners long back."

"If he dies-"

"Do you take us for fools?" demanded the other Hull. "The edge of death, that is our home, and we know it better than any mortal. The boy won't die, but he will fear for his life."

The Hull wasn't wrong. Hem had finally stopped scratching at the Hull's hand, if only because he was rapidly losing consciousness. He could feel his legs giving out beneath him and he slumped to the ground. But still the Hull strangled him, now digging its thumb into the delicate flesh above Hem's Adam's apple, feeling the delicate structure that was his trachea. In those last moments before Hem passed out, he saw only the Hull's white face, its mouth open to reveal a too-red tongue and teeth filed to points, and it's staring eyes, bright with fanaticism at his suffering. The Hull leaned in, Hem felt the air brush his face when it spoke.

"Don't you ever raise a hand to me again," it whispered and then Hem slipped into darkness.

Saliman sat in transfixed horror as the Hull straightened up and Hem collapsed to the ground. The Hull studied Hem's lifeless body a moment then, in a fit of needless violence and rage, kicked him repeatedly. When Hem didn't respond the Hull drew its sword, turned it so the flat of the blade faced Hem, and then struck him with it. Saliman flinched at the sound of it hitting Hem, but the Hull's still wouldn't let him pass.

After a time in which the Hull circled Hem's body, occasionally nudging it with the tip of its boot, it gestured roughly to Saliman. "Come, Bard, and wake your student. We've day left to ride, and I won't lose it because of this boy."

"I warned you," Saliman said haughtily, though beneath his indifferent façade he was anxious to inspect the damage to Hem. "I told you if you pushed like this it could kill him."

"He's not dead."

"Then put him in the saddle with me." Saliman dismounted and knelt beside Hem.

It wasn't a pretty sight. Some color had returned to Hem's cheeks, but his lips were still tinged with blue. There was a trickle of blood running down his chin from the times the Hull had kicked him. Though Saliman couldn't see the bruises yet, there were red welts from the sword on his arms, which Saliman suspected ran across his body. Hem would be lucky if he didn't have a broken rib.

"I told you both: the boy walks," the Hull said sternly. It tossed the noose to Saliman. "Put it on him and wake him up. I want to move soon."

Saliman was repulsed by the noose, but he slipped it gently over Hem's head and secured it loosely around his throat so it wouldn't chafe during the day. He pinched Hem's cheek, but the boy didn't respond. He tried pinching his inner arm, but nothing happened. Exhausted though he was, Saliman knew there would be only one way to wake him.

_Riik, _Saliman called, drawing on his felt Hem stir faintly beneath him and tried once more. _Riik! _

A small gasp, and something under Saliman twitched. He looked down in time to see Hem's eyes flutter open, glance to the side where the Hull was, then back to Saliman's face. Salman, who was holding Hem's cheeks cupped in his large hands, used his thumbs to brush away some of the dirt.

"You called," Hem said simply, "and I came."

Saliman bowed his head, letting his hair fall and form a curtain between them and the Hull. "If it were my choice, you would have slept the rest of the way, but the Hulls are insistent you walk. I am sorry, Hem."

Hem looked down, tired. "I shouldn't have been so stubborn with the Hull."

"No, that was not wise. But then-" for the briefest moment, Saliman cast a rascally smile in the direction of the Hulls "-Hulls don't deserve an easy go of it, and I would have done far pettier things if it had been me."

"We're almost there, I can tell." He sat up, still not looking at the Hull. "I can make it the rest of the way."

Saliman took the measure of him. In truth, Hem looked about ready to collapse again, but there was no need to go pointing it out. "Going to meet the Nameless One tall and straight backed?"

Hem shifted a little, feeling his muscles tense and ache where the Hull had hit him. He felt his own ribs, prodding them gently and was sure one was broken. It would be dreadful to walk with it, but there wasn't time to try and heal it now. Maybe that night. He ran a hand through his hair, trailing his fingertips along the rope noose on the way down.

"I'll settle for anything that's not cowering at this point," Hem said honestly. Saliman shifted back and stood up, offering his hand to help Hem up. He pulled the boy to his feet, brushing a bit of the dirt off him.

The Hull leaned closer. "Are you quite ready?"

"I certainly don't want to put you out any more," Hem answered, surprised at his own sharp tongue. The Hull raised an eyebrow, but said nothing, waving Saliman back to his horse.

"I'll see you soon," Saliman said as fiercely as he would a deathbed promise. He returned to his horse, not taking his eyes off Hem, who was now toying with the rope.

"Now," the Hull said, climbing up into the saddle and giving the rope a sharp snap to remind Hem where he was, "walk straight and keep a good pace. I don't want to lose any ground just because we're dragging you along."

Hem shot the Hull a dark look but began to march without comment. The ache he had been nursing in his side blossomed into a burning sensation, and Hem was sure now he had a broken rib which flared up at each step. He clutched his side and grit his teeth knowing full well the Hulls weren't going to stop for his pain, but as the day progressed, the ache spread down his entire right side. Soon, it felt as though someone had stabbed him and all his muscles were clenched around the tip of the blade. His breath came in short, jagged gasps and he walked favoring his left leg, but the Hulls wouldn't let him slow his pace.

_Just keep putting one foot before the other, _Hem told himself as the sun reached its peak. _Keep walking toward the horizon until the sun sinks beneath it. You can heal yourself tonight. _

It was an encouraging thought, but when three more hours had passed and Hem was moaning with each breath, he suspected his plan of healing that night wasn't realistic. He wanted more than anything to curl up in a ball right there on the ground and hold his sides together until the broken rib fused back into place. Two more hours, and all Hem could think of was the pain in his side. It had seeped into his brain, pushing out all other thoughts and ideas, and he could only focus on the sharp stabbing agony in his side.

Saliman had watched Hem closely, aware that he was in immense pain, but didn't dare try to heal him from such a distance. Instead, he felt poison welling up in him like a snake preparing to strike, and he wished fervently he could spit it at the Hull. Hem was nothing if not a sweet boy, and seeing him limping along like a wounded dog, enraged Saliman far more than the Hulls seemed to notice. He wondered if his anger was worth enough White Fire for a fight.

When the sun finally began to sink below the tree line, Hem gave a cry of relief. The Hulls made him go another two hours until the sun was properly set, but by then, the hours had all melded together into one miserable, mind-numbing march. When the lead Hull tugged his lead to let him know to stop, Hem dropped to his knees, clutching his sides as tight as he could. When a hand touched his back, he flinched, but after a moment, he recognized Saliman's voice.

"I'll set up their camp. You just lie down on my cloak." Hem shook his head frantically, more than willing to let Saliman deal with the Hulls. "I'll tend to your rib when I'm done."

The Hulls drew Hem a little ways off, binding his hands to a stake and driving the stake into the ground. Hem barely lifted his head, just waited for the thing to go so he could be alone with his injury, but the Hull's cold fingers slipped under his chin and lifted his face up.

"That hurt, didn't it? Walking all this way with that rib of yours?" When Hem said nothing the Hull clicked its tongue, irritated. "You see what we can do to you? You see how hard this can be? It'll be easier if you just do as we say, if you quit fighting us."

Hem blinked his eyes slowly but made no comment. The Hull spat and threw him with unnecessary force to the ground. Hem's broken rib hit the ground and he whined through his teeth into the dirt. That noise must have been enough for the Hull, because it left chuckling as it did, and Hem finally rolled into a ball heaved dry sob unashamedly. It was a time before Saliman returned and was similarly bound.

"Let's see to this rib, shall we?" he asked Hem, who hadn't moved to acknowledge him. When Hem murmured something into the dirt, Saliman laid a hand on his shoulder and carefully forced him to relax on his back. "I can't heal you if you hide like that."

"Wasting your energy on this isn't wise," Hem mumbled.

"Certainly not, but you can't go another day with a broken rib," Saliman said pragmatically. He began to prob Hem's side with the tips of his fingers, feeling for the broken bone. When he found it, halfway down Hem's side, he massaged it gently, forcing the muscles that had cramped around it to relax.

"Doesn't look good?" Hem's voice cracked when he asked.

"It doesn't _feel _good, but I can set it right," Saliman assured, and lifted Hem's tunic to get a better look at the damage.

As he expected, there were long bruises across Hem's torso from the sword. They were ugly blue and purple, and red at the edges where the blade of the sword had sliced his skin. A few of the blows had left shallow cuts and were covered in dried blood. The injuries from the kicks were far worse, great black impacts like craters with blue bruising radiating out from the center. It was one of these that had broken the rib, and when Saliman touched it, Hem flinched.

"Try to relax," Saliman said kindly, sinking into himself to call on his Gift. "It you tense up, I have to fight against you too."

Hem sighed and tried to empty his mind, tried to find a place to hide while Saliman did his work. It was difficult, though. Saliman was a gifted healer, but his methods were practical, perhaps even borderline ruthless, when it came to healing an injury. He took little time to ease the tension in Hem's body, didn't try to relax the tissue around the bone, barely numbed the screaming nerves. Hem could feel him taking hold of the bone, forcing the split together, calling on an immense white hot fire to fuse the bones back into place. It was an impressive feat, only one a skilled and practiced healer could have accomplished because it required sheer force of will and power to heal the bones quickly. Still, it left Hem gasping for breath while his insides smoldered.

When it was over and Saliman had sat back, Hem rolled to face him. "Thank you."

"Perhaps not the cleanest work, but there was little time for anything else," Saliman admitted, seeing the faint flash of tears in Hem's eyes. "I can't do much more for the bruises, but your march tomorrow will be the better for it."

Hem considered his words silently before pulling himself up to sitting and slouching against Saliman. "We're not far now, are we?" he asked hollowly. "I can put on a good show and be smart with the Hulls, but we're close to Dagra."

"Indeed we are," Saliman said tonelessly. He had forced himself not to give it much thought lately, but as they moved ever more south, the idea had begun to weigh on his mind.

"Do you think it's true? Do you think he had Maerad and Cadvan?"

"I don't know," Saliman admitted ruefully. "I would like more than anything to know what we're walking into, because I have no doubt the Nameless One will use our fears against us. Perhaps it is a lie to scare us, make us easier to bend to his will? Perhaps they really are there, trapped in his horrible dungeons."

"If he has Maerad and me he can make the Song," Hem pointed out blandly. "He can destroy it."

"Yes, he can," said Saliman.

"Saliman, are we going to die?" The idea had been on Hem's mind for a while now. Surely the Nameless One had no reason to keep them alive when were nothing but a nuisance. For some reason, it didn't scare Hem as much as he thought it would. Certainly, he didn't _want _to die, but the thought of living the rest of his days in Dagra didn't sit well with him.

Saliman drew a deep breath. "It's entirely possible that, yes, we will die soon."

"Saliman I-" Hem caught himself before he said what he'd wanted. He was too ashamed.

"What is it, Hem?" Saliman asked, catching his eye and holding his gaze.

Hem shook his head listlessly. "It's nothing."

Though Saliman wanted to push him further, he could already see the boy's eyes drooping. Hem was too tired for interrogation now. "Get some rest. Tomorrow is another long day."

Hem didn't need telling twice. He closed his eyes, slipping quickly into a fitful sleep. Saliman stayed up longer into the night, watching the Hull closely as they moved occasionally around the fire. He wondered if they had told the truth, if Maerad and Cadvan were already in Dagra. He allowed himself to think of the Nameless One, and of the almost inevitable fate that waited for them.

_It wasn't how I thought this was going to end, _Saliman admitted to himself. _I could have lived a long and happy life, and yes, I could have died in battle against the Dark. But I didn't think I would die in the dungeons of the Nameless One. _Saliman closed his eyes, thinking of Turbansk. _I thought it would end with the fearless cries of battle, not the desolate whispers of the Dark. _

At that moment, the Hulls erupted into cold laughter. Saliman grimaced, turned his face away to the empty landscape around them, and tried to sleep.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

Maerad was sleeping with her back to Cadvan, but he could still see the gentle rise and fall of her breathing. It was the first time since they had arrived in Dagra that he had seen her so relaxed-if relaxed was the right word. It had taken her a long time to fall asleep, tossing and turning on the stone floor, occasionally asking him questions, worrying about her brother, wondering if there was some way to escape. Cadvan had soothed her as best her could given their current situation, but he doubted his words had the effect he desired. When she had finally fallen asleep, Cadvan sat with his thoughts.

Maerad could still escape, given the right circumstances, but there was no escape for Cadvan. While the Nameless One had his true name, Cadvan was bound in his service. Experimentally, Cadvan sank into himself, searching for that gaping wound in his mind where the Nameless One had used his Name to force his way into his conscious. It was still there, still raw and tender, aching as if the Nameless One had just been there. Cadvan recoiled from the injury and opened his eyes.

_You're not getting out of this so easy, _he told himself ruefully. _But Maerad might be able to escape if you distract the Nameless One-_ Cadvan's thoughts were cut off by a terrible burning sensation behind his eyes. He gave a startled cry and clutched his head.

_That's not very loyal, _whispered a voice in his ear. _Sneaking behind my back to send your lover away? I thought we were on better terms with each other, Inareskai._

Cadvan cringed as the sensation of the Nameless One brushing against his consciousness made his stomach turn. _You know me well enough to know I despise the Dark._

The Nameless One chuckled. _But you serve the Dark now. How can you despise yourself?_

_ It's easier than you think, _Cadvan responded and then shifted his thoughts away from the voice. He tried to focus on Maerad's sleeping form, but the Nameless One seemed to find his effort amusing.

_You need not admire her from a distance. If you'd like, I could order my Hulls to release you, _he offered in a slick voice. _You've certainly earned the right to her now._

Repulsed by the idea, Cadvan turned his gaze to the night sky. _One does not earn the right to a person, _he said stiffly.

_Certainly they do. Is love not ownership? _The Nameless One seemed genuinely curious, and Cadvan suspected that his understanding of the Ways of the Heart were shallow. He knew them only so much as he could manipulate them. He knew Cadvan had loved Maerad, and he turned it against them, but he didn't understand the depth of that feeling now.

_If that is the depth of your knowledge of love, then it is no surprise to me that you're in this state, _said Cadvan blandly. He had little energy to antagonize the Nameless One, especially when there was so little to gain.

_Do not misjudge me, Cadvan, _warned the Nameless One. _I'm far older-far wiser-than you. I have had millennia to study the Ways of the Heart. You might be surprised at the extent of my knowledge. _

This didn't sit particularly well with Cadvan, who firmly believed that the Nameless One could never understand love. It left a bad taste in his mouth. _Perhaps the breadth but not the depth._

_ I'll let you decide, _the Nameless One sensed toying with Cadvan wouldn't get him very far, and he only enjoyed proper sport, not a game in small parts. _But I tell you now, Cadvan, that over time you will learn I am correct. These feeble ideas, these morals you hold so dear, they mean nothing. I will make the world to my desire, and you, as my servant, will do the same. If you want the girl, you will take her._

Cadvan ducked his head and waited until the presence of the Nameless One left him. Even after, he waited a long while before lifting his head again, and now his gaze rested on Maerad. She was sickly pale and as dangerously thin as when they first met, in the pale light from the torches he could see the bruises that covered her body. He felt no anger, though, just a dull sadness and bitter realization that nothing he could do would ease her suffering. As if he were peeling back layers of her being, Cadvan allowed himself to see her as he had the first night in Innail. He could remember her porcelain, angular face that stared out at him uncertainly through tumbles of thick black hair. He remembered the way her body moved in the lovely blue dress Silvia had put her in, how he had been unable to look away from her that night. She had been so young and innocent, and Cadvan had gone to bed that night feeling immensely guilty at some of the thoughts he'd had.

_If you want the girl, you will take her._

Those words haunted Cadvan. Of course he wanted her, he'd wanted her since that very first night, but she'd been afraid of him. Even now, if her tears earlier had been any indication, she was afraid of him. The idea that he could simply _take _her, as the Nameless One had suggested, didn't so much repulse him as confuse him. And yet…the thought of being with Maerad was almost too tempting.

_Collect yourself! You're a prisoner in Dagra, this isn't the time to be thinking of what could have been with Maerad. _

As if summoned by his thoughts, Maerad stirred and groaned. She didn't role over at first, conscious of her nakedness, and instead waited. It had become almost routine for them: Maerad would announce herself with a cough or a groan, alerting Cadvan to look anywhere else but at her, and, after a minute, she would sit with her profile to him, her face turned to meet his.

"I don't suppose they've brought us food, have they?" Maerad asked, looking around the empty hall.

"I think starving us keeps us weak," Cadvan said. "Easier to manage."

"I didn't think the Nameless One would want you in such a state if he plans to use you," Maerad said, then regretted her words instantly when she saw how dark Cadvan's face turned. He didn't need reminding of his enslavement. "It is odd, is all."

"I think we are underestimating the Nameless One in that regard." Cadvan glanced at Maerad, but she was looking away from him. "Nothing he does is odd."

Maerad shivered though it wasn't cold and hugged herself. "Have you-have you spoken to him at all?"

It was a strange question, Cadvan thought, because speaking to the Nameless One suggested Cadvan had some say in the decision. In the few instances when Cadvan had communicated with the Nameless One, it had come upon him suddenly, usually when he most wanted to be alone. The Nameless One seemed to enjoy these moments the most, waiting until Cadvan was alone with nothing but sensitive thoughts then springing on him.

"In brief moments he will come," said Cadvan stiltedly. "But it's nothing of substance."

Maerad cringed, wondering what the Nameless One spoke of then. "He's given no indication then of what he wants with you or where my brother is or how the Schools fair?"

"Even if he did, I would think it was a lie," Cadvan decided. "He doesn't believe either you or I are truly in service to him, and so he must pursue us with these lies."

Maerad frowned. "Even though he has your Name?"

"You heard him. It's not enough to be able to order me around. He wants more." This was another topic Cadvan had chosen to avoid thinking about, but it weighed on him when he considered it. The Nameless One didn't want to use his Name to force him to act, which meant he had other methods of eliciting a response.

Cadvan looked up at Maerad again, but this time she was staring at him. He noticed a sharp sadness in her pale eyes, a tightness around her mouth. "I'm so sorry," she said at last. "As if you need reminding of it now."

"It's not as if I forget," Cadvan said in what he hoped was a light voice. Given Maerad's now trembling lower lip, he doubted he had succeeded. "Think not of it. Focus instead on what you're going to do about the Song."

"I have thought about it, and though it's true that if he has Hem, all of the pieces will fall into place, I think there is still hope." Maerad shook her head ruefully. "It's something Arkan said to me. He said the Song must be made with love, it was made before without it, and so it was broken. It wasn't true."

"And you think it will be the same as before?" Cadvan asked hopefully.

"What does Sharma know of love?" Maerad asked shrewdly. "Of course, he can force me to Sing and Hem to make music, but it won't be made with love then. Arkan said love must be given freely, so the Song must be given freely."

Cadvan reflected briefly on the Nameless One's idea of love. Ownership. Certainly that was how he viewed the Song? He thought, by capturing Maerad and Hem, he controlled the Song, and, if Maerad was right, then it didn't matter if she was forced to give him the Song, it could never be his. Cadvan felt a ballooning sense of hope that perhaps they weren't lost yet; maybe the Nameless One could still be stopped.

_Maybe you could be free._

Cadvan turned away from that last thought. Not because he didn't want to be free of the Nameless One, but because the idea that he might, only to have that take away from him was too painful. Instead he considered what the next step against the Nameless One was if they could truly prevent him from taking the Song.

"Even without it, he has a mighty army," Cadvan said. "He will make war from the South, and Enkir in the North…he could win this battle without the Song."

"He could, but if he can't have the Song, then Hem and I _can_," Maerad said thoughtfully. "By bringing Hem here, he forces the issue. Either the Song can be made whole and he will take it, or the Song will be made whole and it will destroy him."

"He might realize this. He might kill you and Hem to prevent the Song being made at all."

Maerad sighed. "Well, you at least will be free of your oath to him."

While it was true that the Nameless One had sworn Maerad's life in exchange for his Name, Cadvan doubted he would be free. "You said the Song could be made whole and it would destroy him?"

"I-I don't know for sure," Maerad admitted. "I think that if the Song is made with love, then Sharma will be unable to work whatever magic he used to make himself immortal. If that is the case, then it's possible that reuniting the Song properly will destroy the bindings he made. It will kill him."

"But you do not know for sure?"

"No, but it makes sense, doesn't it? Sharma broke the Song when he used it to bind himself to the mortal world, but because the Song was made wrong, it did not grant eternal life, it merely granted him deathlessness. Instead of being filled with life, he was made into a void. Both are eternal, but in different ways."

Cadvan blinked, impressed by her perception. "So, you think he will make the Song to become properly immortal?"

"He needs the Song," said Maerad decidedly. "His immortality is bound to it, so he cannot destroy it, but simply recreating the binding he used last time would not change him. So, yes, I think he wants to use the Song to make himself properly immortal."

"Then he has no choice," Cadvan said slowly. "He cannot destroy it. He can only hope it will not destroy him."

Maerad smiled grimly. "Perhaps this was the only way to destroy him, get close enough to give him what he wants then let it destroy him. It would be poetic, in a way, wouldn't it?"

"You can write a song about it," Cadvan said dryly.

Though they had no guarantee that Maerad was right and the making of the Song would destroy the binding the Nameless One had created, the thought that their capture and torment might end in the destruction of the Dark left them with something to hope for. Though they were still well aware of their imprisonment and the feeling of the Dark pressed down on them ever more, the thought nestled firmly in both their minds and made the time in their cell more bearable. To fill the silence, they would speak to each other softly. Maerad had few stories that weren't miserable and lonely, but insisted Cadvan tell stories. Cadvan told her of his youth, growing up in a cobbler's house, learning the trade his father had been locally quite famous for. He told her about his friends when he was young, the mischief they got up to, usually following his lead. He even told stories of his days in the School of Lirigon before his dual with Dernhil.

When they didn't speak, they sat in moderately companion silence. Cadvan continued to politely look anywhere but at Maerad and Maerad sat with her side always to him. While Cadvan troubled himself with the presence of the Nameless One, Maerad thought of her brother. She wondered where Hem was, if he was truly on his way, and what the Hulls might have down to him. She worried for him, for Hem hated and feared the Hulls. She hoped he was safe, or at least being carefully watched by Saliman.

Time seemed meaningless in that room, though. They couldn't tell if it was day or night because the sky outside their small window always seemed black, the low clouds reflecting red light from the fires below. They slept when they were tired, which was becoming more and more frequent as their food supply was so sparse, and spoke when the silence had gnawed at them too much. Maerad contemplated turning in her wolf self, to see if she could loosen the chains on her wrist, but she suspected the Nameless One would know as soon as she tried to access her Elidhu powers. She and Cadvan sang sometimes, when sleep evaded them and conversation failed them; even without music their voices were pure and echoed around the room. When they sang, they chose only pleasant songs, simple songs about fishing in clear brooks, tilling rich earth, or riding horses through beautiful hills and towns. But even their voices faded with time and there came a time when neither of them spoke, when their songs were finished and words had dried up. Maerad simply lay on her side, consumed with worry for her brother, and Cadvan sat against his wall, watching the red light speckle the dark clouds.

There came a time when the door to their cell rattled. Maerad who was dozing listlessly, running her hands thoughtfully over her belly and thinking of Malgorn's exquisite cooking, blinked and wondered if she'd imagined it. She sat up and saw that Cadvan was sitting stiff and upright, attention fixed on the door. For a moment, she wondered despite herself if Cadvan, now in service to the Nameless One, had some connection with the Hulls that allowed him to sense them. Then, feeling foolish, realized he had simply called on his Bard hearing. As soon as she sent out her hearing, the sound of rattling keys and hissing breath filled her senses.

_Gather yourself, they've come to take you to Sharma and you must be ready._

When the door opened, the two Hulls who had initially brought them were on the other side. They both stepped into the room, taking note of the two Bard's condition. Aside from their obvious exhaustion and hunger, the wary look in their eyes was particularly amusing. The one who had undressed Maerad took note of stiffness and the way she faced the opposite wall as Cadvan and grinned.

"You two seem to be getting on well. Found the new rooms to your liking?" When neither Maerad nor Cadvan answered the Hull, he shrugged carelessly. "Not that I like to drag you away from your cozy little abode, but our Master has requested your presence. You're expected to dine with him."

"On what, the corpses of children whose families he murdered?" Maerad asked before she could help herself.

Cadvan's eyes widened in stark surprise, but the Hull answered. "When prepared properly, you can't tell human flesh apart from a deer." Maerad curled her nose in disgust and bared her teeth in a snarl that seemed to entertain the Hull who waved at her carelessly. "Save your growling for later, little Maerad. Dinner with our Master is no place for dogs."

The Hulls unlocked the chains that bound Maerad and Cadvan, and though Maerad momentarily looked for clothes, she realized quickly that there were none to be had. Cadvan debated offering her his tunic at the very least, but the Hulls were faster and shoved them into the hall. With no other choice but to go naked, Maerad lifted her chin and marched along as calmly as she could.

_These are Hulls, not men, _she reminded herself, _then do not lust for a woman's body, they do not feel desire. I might as well be dressed in an extravagant gown for all the attention they pay me. _

She repeated this to herself, but Maerad still felt painfully exposed. She wondered if maybe it had nothing to do with letting them see her naked, but more to do with her vulnerability. If her body was bared to them, there was very little to protect her from their weapons. She switched her gaze to Cadvan, who was walking stiltedly beside her, and gently brushed her mind against his. She saw him flinch, as if someone had screeched in his ear, but then relax when he recognized it was her. The constant presence of the Nameless One must have left him particularly reactive to any contact. Cadvan, feeling Maerad's conscious reach out to him, pressed down any urge to fight her off and instead opened himself up to her. She felt warm, like a summer breeze compared to raging forest fire the Nameless One had been.

"Have a care for your manners," the Hull holding Maerad said softly. "Our Master will not suffer your smart mouth this time. You wait on his pleasure."

When the doors to the throne room opened, Maerad was shocked to see the room, brightly lit by many hundreds of torches, had been organized so that a single table was laid out before a padded throne, draped in a red and gold blanket. There were two additional seats, plates and cutlery for three, and three glasses already full on wine. There were plates piled with bread, butter melting over their crusts, roast and seasoned vegetables marinating in sauce, cheese and fruit that were so ripe they gleamed in the light of the torches, and a roast chicken that dominated the center of the table. The food steamed before them and rich heady smell wafted toward them both. Maerad found her mouth watering and took one step toward the table, but Cadvan, reached out to stop her taking a seat.

_We should wait on the host, _he said in a tight voice. While he was right that waiting was polite, Maerad loathed anything that demonstrated her subservience to the Nameless One. She frowned at him. _He'll be looking for any reason to hurt you. Don't give him one._

Maerad sighed and hugged herself, trying and failing to press down her anxiety. She wondered what this extravagant dinner was meant to celebrate. Had the Nameless One brought her bother to Dagra? Had he conquered another Bard city? Had he somehow found a way to turn the Song to his own devices? Was he going to kill them after all?

She was just beginning to wonder if it was possible to attack the Hulls, run for the doors, when the torches all along the wall flickered, disturbed by a breeze. For one moment, the room was utterly dark, and Maerad shrank against Cadvan's side. When red light filled the room again, the Nameless One was seated on his throne, his flat face turned to them.

He blinked slowly, like a snake. "Why, Maerad, why have you come before me in such a state?"

She swallowed loudly. A week in a cell had dulled her memory of the Nameless One's horrid, misshapen face and Maerad found her mouth had gone suddenly dry. She opened her mouth, but her words failed her. Cadvan, though, answered in a rough, irritated tone. "You should ask your servants why they saw fit to treat her this way."

The Nameless One smiled suddenly at Cadvan. "Why is Maerad naked?" he asked Cadvan pointedly to the general amusement and laughter of the Hulls.

Cadvan breathed out loudly through his nose. "I haven't the slightest clue why your Hulls thought it was necessary."

The Nameless One's gaze slipped to the Hulls. Though they said nothing, some form of communication must have passed between them because the Nameless One chuckled softly. "Obviously, they thought it would amuse you, Cadvan. Perhaps they thought they were doing you a kindness? As one of their fellow brothers-at-arms they thought to make you more comfortable."

"I am not a _fellow_ of Hulls," Cadvan announced loudly and clearly.

The Nameless One raised an eyebrow. "Be that as it may, I see no harm in a little teasing. Surely, you enjoyed some of your time?"

"More than enough," he answered tersely. "Perhaps you might be kind enough now to offer her some garb? She's cold."

"Cold? In Dagra?" The Nameless One laughed aloud, eyeing Maerad's like she was a rabbit he was about to eat. Maerad covered her chest. His gaze, unlike that of the Hulls, was desirous, hungry for something more than just her humiliation. "The sun beats down mercilessly here. There is no escape from the heat. Why, men die of heat exhaustion in my service."

"All the same, she has found the comforts of your palace cold."

The Nameless One's eyes snapped back to Cadvan's face. "You do not wish to share your student with the rest of my fastness, is that it? Her form is for your eyes only?"

Cadvan sighed at such mindless games. "Yes," he said contritely. "You yourself said in exchange for my Name that no one else could have her."

"I said no one else could _touch_ her," the Nameless One pointed out simply. "But I understand you, Cadvan. I understand desire and possession. Long ago, when I was a young man not unlike yourself, the laws were different. A woman was a reflection of the man she was bound to. To shame her was to shame him doubly." The Nameless One walked unhurriedly around his throne, dragging the blanket off the back. He approached them, the fabric slithering along the floor, and paused before Cadvan so that he could look down on him with his huge, unblinking black eyes. "When I was a young man, we beat women who did disservice to their men."

Cadvan snapped the blanket out of the Nameless One hand. "I pity any woman that was bound to you in such service." He shook out the blanket and then turned Maerad to face him so he could drape it over her. It hung loosely off her shoulders and Cadvan knotted it above her navel so that is fell in long swaths to cover her completely.

The Nameless One observed the intimate display dispassionately. He saw Maerad lean into Cadvan's touch and Cadvan gently rubbing her shoulders and arms, saw the look on intense affection pass between them. "You ought to teach her a lesson about propriety."

Cadvan had to press down every urge to lash out at the Nameless One. "Last I checked, I'm still her mentor, and I'll decide what is and is not appropriate for instruction."

"As you'll have it," the Nameless One agreed, suddenly turning away and walking toward the table, "but be forewarned: without a firm hand to keep her in check, she'll only get worse"

"I'll keep that in mind," Cadvan answered plainly. He caught Maerad's eye and squeezed her hand gently. "For now, though, I think a glass of wine will serve to temper her."

The Nameless One laughed. "Certainly. This dinner was prepared for you two, after all. It would be a shame if these things go to waste." He took his seat in the center of the table and gestured for them to join him. "I realized that you two had gone so long without a proper meal that I was proving myself a poor host."

"Among other things," Maerad muttered as she took her seat. Cadvan flashed her cautionary look, but she thought she saw a brief smile cross his face.

"You especially, Cadvan, has earned a good meal." The Nameless One took a sip of his wine but made no move to touch the food before them. "I like to think I have always treated my servants generously, and so to keep you locked up in a room with no food for a week was in bad taste. But here now, I have brought together the riches of Den Raven."

Cadvan seemed to bristle whenever the Nameless One reminded him that he was his servant. "I was under the impression that all your slaves are treated much the same," he said casually, piling roast potatoes, carrots and cauliflower on Maerad's plate then turning his attention to his own. "That cell was as much as I expected."

"Now, Cadvan, I wouldn't go so far as to call you a slave. Certainly, I _can _force you to do my will, but as was just demonstrated by your refusal to punish Maerad, I _don't. _Your services will be extracted voluntarily, and as such, rewarded."

"And what services are those?" asked Cadvan calmly.

The Nameless One smiled toothily. "They will make themselves known in due course. For now, you're only duty to me is your charming presence here in my court. And, of course, access to your lovely companion."

Cadvan's hand tightened on his fork. "That's not mine to grant. Maerad may choose whose company she wishes to be in."

The Nameless One leaned closer. "No, she may not. She keeps your company or she keeps none."

Up to this point, Maerad had not spoken, but the Nameless One's callous discussion of her was infuriating. "So, I must stay with Cadvan? What am I? A possession, a piece of art to mount in a room?"

"I wanted to leave you in my dungeon until you gave me the Song," the Nameless One said harshly. "I was going to leave you locked in the dark and cold until you were driven mad with the loneliness. I was going to have the heads of your friends and loved ones brought before you, tossed in a pile in your cell to stare at you." The coldness of his tone and the cruelty of his words made Maerad gasp. "But Cadvan offered an alternative, and as such, I could not refuse."

"So, this is but a favor in exchange for his service?"

"One of many," the Nameless One said. "Loyalty has its own rewards, which you will both soon see."

Cadvan took a longer sip of his wine than meant and coughed loudly, choking on the bitter tannins. "Do those rewards include not sleeping on a cold, hard floor?"

"Always pleasant company, aren't you?" the Nameless One asked politely. "As a matter of fact, I am making great efforts even as we speak to arrange accommodations for you and your delightful student. Of course, it will take time, as these halls have long been abandoned by your kind."

_Accommodations in the Dark Tower? _Maerad laughed at the absurdity of it.

"Yes, Mistress Maerad?"

"I was merely wondering what such accommodations might look like. Will the walls be painted with the blood of innocents? Decorated in chains?" Under the table Cadvan pinched her hand in warning.

"Don't be stupid, girl." The Nameless One leveled her with a dark stare and she sensed his anger like a growing storm. She wondered for the first time at the dramatic difference between his treatment of her Cadvan. Not that she was envious, but it seemed as if the Nameless One was more forgiving of his temper than hers.

_Is this to do with the Song? Or something else entirely? _In some ways, yes, Cadvan was more valuable to him. Without the Song, after all, Maerad was just a young novice to Barding. Arkan's words came back to her then, sharp and cold. _You would be the merest morsel to him. _If she worth so little, perhaps it was wiser not to try his patience so fast.

"I cannot imagine a bedroom in a place like this," she said in a measured voice. "That was all I meant."

"Like I said, it will take time to prepare. Perhaps, by the time you have so kindly given me the other half of the Song, something could be put together." The Nameless drained his own wine and a droplet as red as blood ran down his mouth. "Yes, I think that would be sufficient, think you not?"

"I've already told you, I can't play the Song because I don't know the Music," Maerad said firmly.

"As you've said," growled the Nameless One, and the torches flickered with his anger. "And I suppose that when he arrives you will then cast your will against mine and refuse to give me the Song? Must I take it by force?"

Maerad blinked, considering her alternatives before carefully but clearly saying, "Yes, you will have to."

"I suspected as much," said the Nameless One after a beat. His gaze switched to Cadvan with renewed interest. "And how do you abide her insolence? This girl, who I have placed in your charge, defies your master. What will you do with her?"

Cadvan had feared this impasse but saw little recourse should it happen. "Maerad is not mine to order." In some ways, it was as good as abandoning Maerad to the wrath of the Nameless One, but Cadvan also suspected that the longer he engaged in such a conversation, the deeper a grave he was digging himself. Still, he couldn't leave Maerad defenseless. "But she is mine to protect. You placed her in my care, and so I would ask that you leave her to me."

_Clever words won't get you far here, Cadvan, _the Nameless One whispered to him. "I have a difficult time believing you will take her properly in hand. I think your affections for the girl cloud your judgment."

"Be that as it may, she is still mine to look after."

The Nameless One leaned back in his seat, curling his clawed fingers around the hand rests of his throne. "You defy me by defending her."

Maerad realized where this conversation would lead, and the painful reality that no matter what Cadvan said, he was backed into a corner with no escape. The Nameless One could threaten to torture her till she gave him the Song, and Cadvan would invoke the oath he took to the Nameless One that defended her from him. But therein was the rub, because Cadvan swore to be loyal, and protecting her was to defy his master. Cadvan couldn't defend her even if he wanted and crossing the Nameless One could get him hurt. She was alone in this.

"That's impossible," Maerad said, thinking of her conversations with Arkan and his merciless logic. "You said yourself that your control of him was absolute, so if his behavior offends, you allow yourself to be offended."

_Maerad! _Cadvan hissed, but she ignored him.

"You and I both know the business of the Song is between you and me, Sharma," Maerad said calmly. "Stop circling me like some cat around a mouse. Drop these pretenses. You brought me all the way here-into your very fastness-so that I could give you the other half of the Song. So far, you've done nothing but torment those around me. Face me." She said these last two words softly, so he had to learn forward, so his face was bent entire on her. She thought he had stopped breathing so as to hear her words and when she stopped speaking, the Nameless One released a long, slow breath.

Quite suddenly, the Nameless One's neck snapped, and his head dangled at an odd angle, so his ear almost touched his left shoulder. His face tore wide in a grin of white teeth, and red wine leaked out over his lips like blood. His black eye, though, remined fixed on Maerad, almost popping out of his face. A gasp escaped Maerad before she could stop herself and Cadvan felt for the knife he was using to cut his chicken.

"Speak plainly, shall we, Mistress Maerad?" His teeth ground and chewed, like he was keeping down bile. The bones in his jaw popped. "I am weary of this abominable form. My physical body had been trapped in this twisted and broken carcass for ages and begs for the release only the Song can give me. You will play for me, and I will complete the enchantment, take my immortal life and limitless power, and conquer this mortal world." He drew a shuddering breath that sounded like a drowning man.

"I will raze the Schools and enslave the Bards. Their Light will be broken and the Speech dead. I will take all the beauty they have made and tear it down to its very foundations, and even then, I will not stop. I will destroy all Knowing of them. They will be a race of men and women and children in thrall to me for a thousand years. This alone will quench the unbearable thirst inside me, this will appease the terrible pain I have borne for a thousand years. My misery will be multiplied a hundred fold and the Bards will pay it. I will laugh over this world of ash."

Maerad and Cadvan were sitting as far back in their chairs as they could, but the disgust was welling up inside them. Maerad tried to speak, but the words died on her lips. The Nameless One didn't seem to care; he snarled like a wounded beast.

"You will give the Song to me. And if you don't, I will still send forth my army to raze this land. I will bring all those who were good and loyal to you and have them torn apart limb by limb. You will sit here, in my palace before my seeing pool and watch and then when the world is burned to ash, and, if you still won't give me the Song, I will slaughter your brother."

"You, Maerad," the Nameless One croaked, "you will release me. It is a mercy to the world and everything in it that I don't turn my wrath so completely on it."

Maerad drew a stuttering breath. She had suspected that his pain had been insurmountable, but to hear him speak of the years he spent in torment, begging for release, made her insides turn cold. She suspected now that he must have been driven mad by the pain. If she released him, what would he do with his freedom?

"There is no way of knowing that the Song will end your suffering," said Maerad softly. "You have cursed yourself."

"You had better hope it does, or I nothing will stop me from burning this world down." The Nameless One leaned over the table and the smell of blood and decay his Maerad and Cadvan like a wall. "If you free me from this torment, perhaps I will spare cities, the common folk."

"But the Bards you will kill." Cadvan leveled him with a dark look. "We have offended you."

"I despise your people and their Light and beauty, and so I will tear it down. But that is the price your people pay. You were the leaders of the common people, and now, you will pay the price. It is fair, no? I will not punish the flock for the crimes of the shepherd?"

"We have done nothing wrong," Cadvan said steadily, well aware that any role he had in the debate was long gone. "You say we must pay a price for what we have done, but we have done nothing! It is the Light that offends you, because you a selfish and mean-"

"Silence, _Inareskai_!" spat the Nameless One, and Cadvan fell quiet. His fingers were clenched so tightly around the fork they were white, but he was silent. The Nameless One watched him a moment longer, measuring his hold on the Bard. When he found it sufficient, he turned back to Maerad. "You see now why you must give me the Song? The cost you will pay for defying me?"

"I cannot free you," she said simply, thinking of Arkan's warning. "Even if I gave you the Song, it might not free you."

"Of course," he said smoothly, and the hair on the back of Maerad's neck stood up. "I know more than you think, little Bard. I know there are certain…_barriers _to the Song, but I have faith that they will be overcome."

That didn't sit well with Maerad, who frowned. "That is easier said than done."

The Nameless One sat in contemplative silence a moment, drumming his claws on the table. Suddenly, he blinked and stood. "Perhaps, but there's only one way to find out, isn't there? And it begins-and ends-with the Song. Maerad, your moment has come."

Maerad didn't stand but grasped Cadvan's hand as tightly as she could. "My moment?"

"The pieces are here, our moment at last, has arrived."

"Pieces?" Maerad asked.

"Your brother has entered the city and he brings the music. At last, let us begin."


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

Maerad stood up without thinking, so quickly her chair slid back and banged into the floor. Cadvan caught her wrist to stop her rushing to the door, and he felt her tug against him like a hunting dog on a lead. The Nameless One's eyes gleamed, looking at the two, and he reached out his consciousness to the Hulls bringing the boy. They were within the limits of the city now, so close he could feel the Song vibrating in the air around him. He wondered if Maerad felt it too, wondered if her blood ached like his, if her lungs were hurting with the pressure of the power in the air.

_Do you feel it, girl? _the Nameless One wondered. _The Song is inevitable now. Your destiny is come. _

He hoped it killed her in the end. She had proven a thorn in his side far too long, running his servants up and down Annar and the Seven Kingdoms. She had mocked him with her determined evasion of his Hulls, and even now that she was here in his fastness, she continued to irritate him : she had convinced Cadvan to surrender his Name, but hadn't been wantonly enough to convince the Bard to abandon decorum and take her. What use keeping her around if not to help ease Cadvan's descent into his service? When it was done, if she wasn't dead, he would have to find a way to repay her insolence.

_Perhaps an eternity in my service then? Berludh escaped but you won't be so lucky, _he thought, eyeing her closely.

Maerad could feel the Nameless One's eyes one her, but she forced him from her mind. She had a painful ache somewhere in her middle and her face suddenly felt very hot. She wondered if it was Hem's presence, now so close she might be able to touch his mind, or something else altogether. She gripped Cadvan wrist tightly.

_Do you feel that? _she asked him nervously.

Cadvan frowned, nonplussed. _There is nothing here but the Nameless One. Why, what do you feel?_

_ It's not an emotion…it's just-just longing. _She thought a moment, trying to find a way to put the feeling to words. _Like after the longest day of walking you could imagine, and knowing a bed is so close. Like when we were within sight of Innail after traveling through the mountains._

Cadvan blinked, almost having forgotten that day from so long ago. He remembered the energy suddenly bursting in his limbs when they emerged from the cave only hours from Innail. He remembered the tears in his eyes when he looked out on the valley. He had lived in the Dark so long he had almost forgotten what the sun looked like when it glanced off the mountains and streams. A larger part of him than he cared to admit had thought he would die in the fastness of the Landrost.

_That is desperate indeed, _Cadvan mused.

_Something is coming with Hem. I can feel it._

Cadvan didn't quite like the use of the word some_thing _instead of some_one. _He was more unsettled to find that the Nameless One had the same strain in his body as Maerad. Whatever it was she sensed, Cadvan suspected the Nameless One could feel it too. It had to have been the Song.

The waiting seemed to stretch from minutes to hours, and Maerad and Cadvan both wondered how long it took to get from the gates to the tower. Occasionally, they heard the soft whisper of Hull cloaks and waited from the doors to open, but still no one came. Maerad began to think that maybe the Nameless One had lied to her, that he didn't really have her brother and this was just some intricate lie to put her on edge. Her hand, still in Cadvan's wrist, clenched tighter.

Finally, when it seemed the waiting could not go on any longer, they heard the echo of a large door closing and the ravens and crows on the tower took flight briefly. Maerad saw the Nameless One sit back on his throne, a smile playing on his lips. Now the waiting was short, and when Maerad cast out her hearing, she sensed a small group of people moving rapidly through the castle, approaching the throne room. When the doors to the room opened, Maerad gave a cry.

It was indeed Hem, bruised and bloody, his wrists bound and a lead tied around his neck, but it was Hem. The Hull leading him shoved him into the room and he stumbled, pitching forward onto his knees. He didn't seem to want to move from there, but the Hull grabbed him by the hair and dragged him back to his feet, hissing something in his ear. Hem's face snapped about to glare at the Hull, but it struck him upside the head and he inched farther into the room.

Hem was reeling from his Earth Sense. Since entering the city, he had barely been able to walk. It felt as if the very earth itself were bleeding, begging for release from the torments upon it. He had danced about nervously within the first few feet, tripping here and there like a horse when it sensed a predator, but when the Hull forced him to continue onward, the nervousness morphed into pain, first burning in his feet, then twisting his stomach. They had gone a few blocks when Hem had given up decorum and begged to be put back on the horse.

Saliman saw the strain in the line of his shoulders and reasoned loudly that they had arrived in Dagra and that Hem, having done what they asked, deserved to ride. The Hulls had downright refused to let Hem ride, but when he doubled up then retched, the Hull leading him cursed and kicked him so to stumbled into the dirt. From that point, Hem didn't so much walk as he was dragged along through the city. He briefly remembered more Hulls, hollow faces of men and women that were covered in dust, and small children cowering in shadows, their eyes empty voids.

When they reached the tower, Hem launched himself up the steps, grateful for the barrier between himself and the dirt. It worked-to an extent. His stomach still ached but the pain in his body had left. It was then, freed from one distraction, that he felt the tuning fork he wore at his throat begin to tingle. He felt for it, and realized it was hot, but had little time to consider what this meant as the Hulls were dragging him and Saliman through the tower.

Upon being shown into the throne room, Hem's Bard senses were thoroughly repulsed. The feeling of cold weight pressing down on him left him reeling, and he knew that he was in the presence of the Nameless One. He glanced back furtively for Saliman, saw the other Bard looking haggard but determined, and allowed himself to take a few steps. When the feeling hit him again, he buckled. But suddenly, something else touched his conscious, a warmth spreading from the center of his head down.

_Hem! _

He knew the voice so intimately that he thought he might cry. _Maerad! _

And she was there. Standing at a table piled high with food, tugging on the firm grip of Cadvan. She looked small, wrapped in a blanket or cloak, and her face was pale and bruised, but it was Maerad. She smiled fleetingly and managed to free herself from Cadvan. She rushed across the room, threw her arms wide, ripped Hem from the grip of Hull and drew him into a warm, shaking embrace. She was, he thought, so much smaller than he remembered.

"Oh, Hem," she breathed, pressing his face against her. "Hem, believe me, I longed to see you again, but not like this. Not here."

Hem was shaking with the effort of holding himself up, his ribs still sore from the Hull's abuse, but he clutched Maerad closer. "Nor I, but I'm here now, and we're together."

"Whatever happens, I won't let him hurt you, I swear it on the Light," she murmured.

The comment pulled Hem starkly from the reunion, because the _him _to which Maerad referred had to be the Nameless One. Quite suddenly, the gravity of the situation hit Hem. He was a captive of the Nameless One, held prisoner in his very tower, and about to be used to surrender the Song and so doom all Bards. He took a step back to catch his sister's eye when another figure appeared behind her back.

"Cadvan," Hem said simply, staring up. He looked particularly worse for ware, if Hem was being honest. His eyes were glassy, cheeks sunken, and his skin so pale the scares on his cheek stood out vividly. But it was something else that Hem couldn't name, some great sadness that seemed to linger over him and slump his shoulders. "I heard you were dead."

Cadvan briefly thought of making a joke, but the laughter died on his lips. "Then I am glad I could be here to prove you wrong."

"And yet," said a deep voice behind him, "it breaks my heart to find you alive and in this place."

Cadvan's gaze switched up to see Saliman behind Hem, a hand on his shoulder. He smiled, but it was broken and turned into a grimace. "Saliman." Without much care for the staring eyes of the Hulls and the Nameless One, Cadvan drew Saliman into a deep embrace, and the two remained that way a long time. Each other them seemed to want to explain how they arrived in that moment, tried to convey through the exhaustion and strain in their bodies how they had travelled, the horrors they had witnessed, and the regrets that had led them to this. It was such an intimate gesture that Maerad, who had been watching, looked away.

"But this is no time for reunions," said Saliman after a moment. "You are both here, which I fear means the Nameless One has brought together the pieces of the Song. Have we come now to meet out fate?"

Cadvan opened his mouth to reply but the torches flickered again and a soft voice drifted over them. "Fate is too great a word for the likes of you, Saliman once of Turbansk. Yours is no fate, merely an unhappy ending."

Saliman's eyes widened, glanced at Cadvan who had suddenly gone stiff. "It cannot be any unhappier than your own," he said to the room at large.

The Nameless One laughed, leaning forward on his throne so the shadows lifted and his face could be seen. Saliman and Hem, who had never seen such a horror before, flinched at the sight of him. The Nameless One smiled at them, showing his sharp teeth and bloody mouth. He chose to ignore the Bard's sally. "Is Saliman once of Turbansk the proper name, Bard? Or is it simply Saliman of Nowhere? Once of Turbansk implies you were simply cast out, but that's not what happened, was it? No, no…Turbansk was razed, its towers tumbled, its gardens burned, its streets torn apart, its fountains run red with the blood of your bastard people."

A muscle in Cadvan's jaw worked. There had been stories that the Nameless One hated the Bards of the south, and up until that very moment, he had given little thought to how the Nameless One would respond to Saliman. "The place may be gone, but it lives in the hearts of all those who visited there."

"Be quiet, you little ingrate," the Nameless One said with casual cruelty. "You ought to mind that tongue of yours, or I'll teach you the same lesson I taught your friend. You wouldn't want me to turn my eye on Lirigon, would you?"

Cadvan swallowed back a curse. "You said yourself that you would burn all that was Bard-made. I have come to accept that you will destroy the city I love."

"You have not come to accept it," the Nameless One accused, eyeing Cadvan was new curiosity. It seemed, in the presence of his friend, the Bard had renewed courage. That was exciting. "Do not try to fool me, Cadvan, for I can smell your fear. You are terrified that when I send my armies to your home it will be with special malice to pay you back for your crimes against me. And you are right to fear that because I shall. I will slaughter your people, let the rivers run red with their blood, feed their children to my dog soldiers and make slaves of the Bards. And you…you will watch it all."

"I expected that of you," Cadvan said tiredly. "It is perhaps a great drawback, no? You seek to shock and terrify your prisoners by citing the horrors you will visit on us, but there is nothing I put past you. There is no cruelty you could visit on me that would surprise me now. Your Darkness is so absolute that I know what you will do."

"You've intrigued me, Cadvan," mused the Nameless One. "Perhaps I must simply put more effort into my work. You say you are bored with my torments? But Cadvan, we have only barely begun. I have such great plans for us in the future."

"I'd rather rot in your dungeons," he said.

Now the Nameless One smiled widely and his neck snapped again so his head hung at an angle. "Now, now, Cadvan, we've had this conversation. I am preparing rooms for you befitting your newly acquired status. I wouldn't dream of locking you or your pretty little mistress in those dark, dank dungeons."

Saliman gave Cadvan a questioning look, but he averted his gaze. "No, but you would lock me here in this tower to watch the destruction of my home?"

"If you wish to watch in person, that can be arranged," said the Nameless One smartly. When Cadvan didn't respond, the Nameless One took the opportunity to continue teasing him, forcing him carefully into a corner where he had to admit his servitude. "If I have told you once, I have told you countless times: it is my desire to make your life easier. I wish to reward loyal service, not punish it. Would you like to go and say goodbye?"

"You are a hateful creature," said Cadvan blankly, still refusing to acknowledge Saliman's searching look.

"Really? I thought I was doing you a kindness." The Nameless One looked to the Hulls, who shook their heads in agreement. "Perhaps you simply don't trust me yet, Cadvan. Rest assured that I will prove myself a fair master."

_What lies does the Nameless One speak? _Saliman asked gently, perceiving a great pain in Cadvan. _Is this some trick?_

_ No trick, my friend, though by the Light I wish it was, _said Cadvan at last. _And I beg you wait to hear the tale from me. Just know it was not my wish that it come to this._

Saliman regarded Cadvan a moment longer before saying, _I trust you, my friend, and whatever Darkness it was that brought you to this, know that do not doubt your loyalty to the Light._

Cadvan seemed to release a bit of the tension in his shoulders, but his face was still tight with anxiety. "I have no doubt that you will prove something," he said indifferently.

"Another time then," agreed the Nameless One, "for tonight, there is such work to be done here. Do you now hear it? The Song calls for its release."

Saliman and Cadvan both jumped like that had been stung. In their hurry to greet the other they had completely forgotten Maerad, Hem and the Song. Now, they spun about to see Maerad still clutching Hem, glaring at the Nameless One with a bright light in her eyes. Hem seemed to be grabbing at something around his neck frantically.

"The Singer and the Music brought to me at last," whispered the Nameless One to himself. He was still standing on the other side of the table, his eyes pinioned on the two young Bards, his teeth flashing with each word. "I heard the whispers about a School-less Bard who would Sing me to my death, who would free the Song and cast me once and for all into the void. I searched for you, Maerad, for so many years, but you remained hidden. And finally, I learned of a child born in Pellinor to the First Bard, and they said the markings were clear, the Knowing true."

The Namless One slunk around the table dragging his feet. His fingers twitched, the claws snapping against the other. Maerad pressed Hem harder against her. "But that _idiot_ Bard, Enkir, didn't believe a _girl_ could be the One and you escaped me. Let that be a lesson to you Bards, that petty hatred can blind you. Pettiness will make you weak. But I am not weak, I have _vision _beyond the small minds of men." He wasn't standing far away now, and the pain Hem had been feeling in his stomach since he had set foot in Dagra expanded, running like shocks up and down his spine. He twitched and the Nameless One grinned. "But, of course, the Hulls tracked the boy down instead."

The Nameless One came before them and reached out his too-long arm to the caress Hem's cheek. Hem shrunk back against Maerad, but with nowhere to go, he had to allow the creature's claws to brush his skin. It hurt so much Hem whined, then clamped his mouth shut, eyes opened wide in horror at the childlike sound his body had made.

"Ah, but he is scared of Hulls, isn't he? He was treated harshly at their hands and learned to fear their red eyes and dead faces." The Nameless One glanced at Saliman as if in confirmation. When the Bard didn't respond and stared back proudly, the Nameless One chuckled. "But I am no Hull, Cai of Pellinor, I am so much more. And you, well you are no ordinary boy either are you? You are special, maybe not as Gifted as your sister, but special, yes. You hear music where there is no Song, don't you?"

Suddenly, the Nameless One stopped his inspection of Hem, his hand snapping back. His eyes narrowed and he learned closer, bending at the waist so that his face was almost level with Hem's. Delicately, he inhaled. "What have you there, boy? What's at your neck?"

Hem glanced frantically at Saliman before lifting his chin a little. "A trinket."

"A trinket?" the Nameless One proclaimed. "Well, why don't you show us then? If it's important enough that Cai of Pellinor wears it round his neck against his beating heart, it must be importance indeed."

Though Maerad said nothing, she sent out a questioning thread of consciousness. She was surprised to find that Hem was almost paralyzed with fear. "It's nothing. Something my crow found when he was looting through the remains of Turbansk."

"Is that so?" asked the Nameless One. "Your c_row _found a little thing you wear around your neck? Let me guess, a reminder of home?"

"Just so," Hem managed.

The Nameless One's hand shot out like a striking snake and caught a hank of Hem's hair. Maerad tried to swat him away but he dragged Hem forward, tossing him like a ragdoll. The force of the throw sent Hem flying across the room and he fetched up against the table. Plates crashed to the floor, the food splattering on the marble and the wine dripping in red pools. Saliman gave a cry of protest and moved to help him.

"Hold him!" he snarled at Cadvan. When he stared back blankly, the Nameless One added, _Inareskai. _

Cadvan filched at the use of his Name and felt that part of him, so recently broken by the Nameless One, suddenly snap together. But this time, when the gaping wound in his mind closed, it closed with the will of the Nameless One, and Cadvan could feel him moving around his mind. Cadvan could call on his powers again, but they were stained with the color of the Nameless One.

Cadvan didn't have the ability to refuse him. Saliman had taken a few steps forward when Cadvan grabbed him by the forearm and dragged him back. Saliman tugged, but realized how weak the weeks of travel with no food and little sleep had made him. Besides, he didn't want to hurt Cadvan, especially if he had no say in his behavior. But still, Saliman tried to summon the strength necessary to break Cadvan's hold, but before he could, Cadvan muttered some words and he felt his legs go stiff and lock in place.

"I am sorry," he said earnestly. "Please, believe me."

Hem, who was blinking spots out of his eyes, rolled to his side and clutched his head. He could taste blood in his mouth and his side was on fire, the recently healed bones protesting their rough treatment again. He curled into a ball, waiting for his searing sides to stop hurting, but a hand grabbed his chin and jerked it up.

"Just a trinket, is it? Just a small bauble a crow picked up for you while you fled the ruins of the Turbansk? Don't lie to me, boy! In my kingdom I see all, and when it comes to my things, I _know _all." The Nameless One towering over him was quite possibly the worst image Hem had ever seen and he squirmed, crying out for help. "You _thief_!" the Nameless One howled.

"Leave him be!" Maerad cried, running toward them but the Nameless One raised up a hand and threw Maerad backwards.

"You _stole _it from me!" the Nameless One snarled, and the windows in their frames shook as if in a strong breeze. "You snuck into my tower and s_tole _my tuning fork!"

Saliman was horrified at the wrath of the Nameless One and struggled uselessly against Cadvan's hold. "I gave it to him!" he cried out. "It was me! I stole it from you and gave it to Hem!"

"Lair," hissed the Nameless One, not tearing his eyes away from Hem's face. "No Bard could have taken the tuning fork from my very person. But a bird…a bird could have flown through a window. Tell me, boy, how did your bird get it?"

Hem shook his head frantically. "I-I don't know what you mean."

His grip ruthless, the Nameless One held Hem still while he hooked a claw in Hem's shirt and tore it down the middle. His injured ribs and soft belly exposed, Hem tried to curl up, but the Nameless One laid his palm flat on his ribcage, pressing Hem into the floor. The tuning fork gleamed on his chest.

"This?" he asked silkily, running his claws over the fork. "You don't know where _this _came from?" Hem stared at the tuning fork, too scared to look the Nameless One in the face. "Your bird stole this from me, undoubtably on your orders. It was precious to me and you stole it. Do you know what happens to thieves in Dagra?"

"N-no," Hem stuttered.

"They're hand is cut off and they are publicly whipped," the Nameless One supplied with relish. "Then, they are made to elocute to their crimes before a jury of their peers. If the jury is satisfied with their words, they go to the slaves' fields. If the jury is not satisfied…they lose their other hand as well."

"Please, don't!" Maerad cried, stumbling to her feet. "Please, my brother speaks the truth. He didn't mean to take it."

The Nameless One sat back on his haunches, examining the fork and Hem in turn. "Your sister says you are innocent, but your crimes are written on our face. What shall I do with you, Cai?"

"I swear on the-on the Light that I didn't order my crow to take it. He just likes things that glitter." Hem swallowed. "I didn't order him to steal from you."

"I hope not," the Nameless One said slowly after a long moment. "I certainly hope not. Because if I reach in that delicate little mind of yours and see your lies, do you know what I will do to you then?"

Hem shook his head, eyes as wide as plates. "I'm going to break each bone in your hand, one at a time, peel the skin off your bones and then cut your hand off. Do you want me to do that?"

"No," Hem said after a beat. "No, please don't do that."

"Naughty boy, Cai, very naughty." The Nameless One ripped the chain holding the fork in one sweeping gesture. It dangled above Hem's face, glinting in the light, and the Nameless One inspected it closely. Then, quite suddenly, his arm arched back and he brought his hand down, the fork whistling through the air. It struck Hem, slicing his cheek open and knocking a tooth out of his mouth.

The Nameless One stood up, curling his fingers around the fork, and strolled back to the center of the hall. Hem was holding his face and moaning and Maerad ran to comfort him. She dropped to her knees, brushing the hair off his face and using a swath of cloth to dab at the blood. Saliman and Cadvan was watching the Nameless One with a growing sense of dread.

"Do you know what this is, my little Pellinor Bards?"

Maerad was helping Hem sit up. "I don't care."

"That's both rude and foolish," the Nameless One said carelessly. "Rude, because when I ask you a question, I expect a thoughtful answer. Foolish because it matters quite a deal where the Song is concerned."

Maerad's turned about sharply to face the Nameless One, eyeing the fork. It was glowing faintly into the dark light. "The Song?"

"Did you never wonder where the other half was?" the Nameless One asked, smirking. "Surely Arkan told you that your lyre had part of the Song, but the other part? Where do you think I put it?"

Hem spit out a mouth of blood. "It burns," he said in an undertone.

The Nameless One looked to one of the Hulls. "Get the lyre. It is time we end this."

Maerad watched a Hull leave the room, her heart beating faster. "Foolish, indeed!" she spat, squeezing Hem tighter and glancing at Cadvan. "You think you know so much of the Song? You think because you have broken it, you can remake it? You were wrong when you made it and you are wrong now!"

"Oh?" the Nameless One asked, the smile on his face growing. "You think in all your travels you have found some secret knowledge I do not? You think you, a sixteen-year-old girl, knows more of the powers of Light and Dark than me, the greatest mage of all time?"

"I found what I sought," Maerad said calmly. She saw that across the room Cadvan was looking quickly between the two. His eyes were dark.

"And what is that?"

"The truth," she said, teeth bared. "The truth you never understood. Only _love _can make the Song whole. Even if I sing, the halves of the Song won't be reunited without love."

Maerad met the Nameless One's widened eyes and saw the smile freeze on his face. Slowly, his eyes narrowed to slits and the sound of teeth grinding emanated from his mouth. "The Song cannot be made without love, you say?"

"It's the truth," Maerad repeated. "The truth you could never believe. You made the Song once, and it was poorly done, and the Song was broken. It can only be made whole with love, and I have no love of you."

"No love of me." The Nameless One repeated and looked around the room, seemingly lost. His eyes moved from the dark windows, to the Hulls, to Cadvan holding Saliman. "No love of me."

"So, you see, the Song cannot be made. You will never be free, except in death."

The Nameless One ignored her. "She speaks the truth, doesn't she, Cadvan?"

For the first time in a long while, Cadvan smiled; it was grim and it hurt, but it was a smile. "She does. By the Light, I don't care what happens to me now, but she speaks the truth! You were a fool to think capturing us meant you had won."

"Careful, you worthless Bard," the Nameless One said with venom. "I told you once that I know more of love than you think. And I know what the Song requires."

"Then you know it will never be yours," said Maerad simply.

The Nameless One turned to face her and a horrid look covered his face: hungry and laughing. It reminded her of the men she had seen in Gilman's cot before they dragged a woman off to their room. She felt a chill race down her spine. "I know now that I made a mistake when I tried to make the Song. My desire for immortal life was not love, nor was it strong enough to bind the Song to my will. It broke and so did I. But in you, Maerad…in you there is so much love."

"Not for you."

"No, no that is true. Your hatred of me must run deep when you see how I've treated your family, your friends, your lover. When you know that I will burn this world down and make slaves of your people. You must despise me." The Nameless One began moving again, slowly but surely across the room to where Cadvan and Saliman stood, now frozen in place by his will. "But you won't sing the Song for me, and you Cai, you won't make the music for me"

Maerad blinked and Hem, who was still clutching his face, sat up straighter.

The Nameless One stood level with Cadvan and Saliman now, looking down on them with the same predatory look he had given Maerad. He reached out a hand and dragged his claw along Saliman's cheek. He trembled and Cadvan, who was holding onto him, offered him some support. The Nameless One flicked his eyes up to Cadvan and the madness Cadvan had seen there when he had insisted on calling him Andomian was back. It was like he was seeing something that wasn't there.

"You're going to make it for the people you love," he said softly. "For Cadvan, the man wo sacrificed _everything_ for you. This is the man who gave me his Name, who allowed me to see into his very soul, who bound himself to me in servitude for eternity, all so I wouldn't hurt you, Maerad. You're going to Sing for him. And as for you, Cai. Why, Saliman is the only father you have ever known. And I know how deep your love for him goes, I know you would sacrifice your life for his-you almost did when he fell ill. But it's not your life I want, it's the Music."

The Nameless One turned about to face Maerad and Hem. "It was a mistake, killing your mother and father. I should have known that they could have served a purpose, but it's far too late for regrets like that. So, instead, you will Sing for those who are _like _a family. You will sing for your love of Cadvan and Saliman. You will sing because if you don't, I will destroy them."

He moved around Cadvan and Saliman, both still uncapable of moving, and took Cadvan's chin firmly in his grasp. He could feel the Bard's pulse in his throat, sense his growing anger at the way the Nameless One used him, and he laughed. "Don't think I will kill them either. When I say I will destroy them, I mean that I will reach into their hearts and minds and use their bodies to serve my needs. They will watch passively while I march them into battle and use their swords to slaughter and innocent and burn the Schools and commit such atrocious crimes even the Hulls will look on them in envy. Think you that I lie?"

Maerad had caught Cadvan's eyes and saw that he was horrified. She remembered from the last time they were in the Nameless One's presence how he had betrayed his fear and told her in that ragged voice that he feared what he would _become _if the Nameless One had his Name. And this was it, this was exactly what he had warned her of. For she had no doubt that the Nameless One could do what he threatened and use Cadvan as his lieutenant in his warn against the Schools.

"Just because you force him to do something doesn't make him of the Dark."

"You say that now, but what happens when he turns on you?" The Nameless One's eyes gleamed. "When he comes back drenched in the blood of the Bards and takes what is rightfully his?"

"He wouldn't-"

"He would, and he knows it, because I command him." Maerad didn't dare look at Cadvan because she knew what she would see if she did. "And as for you, Cai. Well I think it will only be fair, once this war is over, that Saliman continue your education. Though he will train you as I see fit. It will be hard, I think, to love someone so much but have them turn on you so cruelly. To wield the whip that breaks your back, that sword that beats you down…how will like it Cai?"

"The Light take you, Sharma!" Saliman cursed.

The Nameless One snarled at the sound of his use-name. He shoved Cadvan aside and grabbed Saliman by his long braids, jerking him to his knees. His other hand clenched his jaw tightly and forced him to look up. "I always hated your kind. I laughed when your city burned and crumbled into ash, and I'm going to laugh when you break like your paltry people. I'm going to drive you mad and make your crawl like the animal you are. You're nothing but a cur, and a pathetic excuse for one at that." The Nameless One sniffed him. "You smell like death. The White Sickness still clings your fragile bones and sinew. The boy healed you, but you'll bear the scars of it for life. You'll never regain your full strength again."

Saliman frowned. "Then I am useless to you."

"Not quite. First, I'm going to use you to bend Cai to my will." The Nameless One snapped his teeth at Saliman. "Then we'll have fun, you and I. You will join your friend Cadvan in thrall to me, and if you're lucky, I will be a merciful master."

"Hem, don't!" Saliman cried out, unable to look away from the Nameless One. "Whatever he threatens to do to me. Whatever he says or does, don't give him the Song!"

"Hem?" the Nameless One asked, then laughed aloud, shaking Saliman back and forth as he said. "You call yourself Hem, boy? That's a lowly name, not that I expect better. But, listen here, if you don't give your sister the Music to my Song, I will make you watch while I tear apart Saliman's mind, rip his very essence from his body. Ask you sister what it was like to watch me do it to Cadvan. It wasn't pleasant."

Saliman closed his eyes upon the realization. _Cadvan, I'm so sorry._

_ It matters little now, _he said hollowly.

"So, little Pellinor Bards, will you sing for your love of your friends?" The Nameless One released Saliman, who fell to floor, clutching his sides. "Will you spare them and yourselves such torment?"

Maerad watched Cadvan join Saliman, help him sit upright, and meet her gaze levelly. She noted with frustrated tears in her eyes that he didn't nod his yes, but he certainly didn't say no. She thought of him in that cell with her, the lifeless shrug of his shoulders and his hollow smile. He was ready to be done with this, whatever that meant for him, and small part of her knew Cadvan was her responsibility. It wasn't just that she had led him to Dagra, but that she had convinced him to give up his Name, she had told him whatever Dark deeds he committed were equally hers.

And she loved him and couldn't bear to watch the Nameless One break him.

The Nameless One was before her now. "Well, little Bard?"

Maerad drew a shuddering breath before saying, "I'll sing for you."


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Cadvan heard Maerad across the hall and closed his eyes in a painful grimace. As grateful a he was that the Nameless One wouldn't be forcing him to commit any number of terrible crimes, the alternative wasn't much better. Giving him the Song meant the destruction of the Light, the Schools, Barding itself. And he realized with bitter clarity that he was partly to blame.

_Maerad's love of me is our undoing, _he thought. _Love was not so great a defense after all. _

When he looked back up, he saw that the Nameless One had ushered Maerad and Hem to the center of the room. The two were small figures compared to his massive black bulk, and they seemed particularly vulnerable at that moment. Beside him, Saliman had risen up and was looking at Hem intensely.

"They will give him the Song," Saliman said, and it wasn't a question. "The Light help us, he will be unstoppable."

"There is always hope," said Cadvan, thinking of a time not long ago, in Innail when they battled the Landrost, that he said much the same. "Perhaps the forces of the Light will stop his armies. He may be immortal but without armies he is not quite so powerful." His voice wavered, though, and Cadvan knew even he didn't believe his own words. When the Nameless One had the Song, his armies would cover the world in a second darkness so complete there would be no escape.

"I am afraid, my friend," Saliman admitted. "I am afraid for us, for what comes after."

The door to the hall opened again and a Hull was retuning, carrying Maerad's lyre delicately. Cadvan watched it approach the trio, saw the tuning fork swinging from the chain in the Nameless One's hand begin to glow, and the lyre turn faint gold in the dark. When it was handed to Maerad, her face was illuminated with the light and he saw the terror etched across her face.

"I am afraid, too."

Maerad, who was clutching her lyre tightly to her chest now, was looking up at the Nameless One. "You will spare my friends?"

"Your love will protect them," the Nameless One said ironically, still swinging the tuning fork. "Boy, you may have the fork, but you will return it to me when this over." _Or you will be dead, and I will take it from your lifeless, worthless corpse. _

Hem whipped the blood from his mouth, glowering at the Nameless One, but held out his hand for the fork. As soon at the fork touched his skin, he felt his heart beat erratically and blood was pounding in his ears. His entire arm began to vibrate, and he had to clutch the fork tightly to keep from dropping it.

"What do we do?" Hem asked, turning to his sister. "How do we begin?"

Everything felt terribly, painfully wrong, like they were trying to force the pieces of a puzzle together. Maerad closed her eyes and tried to feel the power of the Song like a map, but it was a mess. Whatever was supposed to happen, this was no it. "We need to try and make the Song. I need the Music."

Hem blinked, but the vibrating was now so powerful his arm in his shoulder was shaking. It hurt. "It's not right. It hurts too much. Something doesn't feel right."

"I know," said Maerad, running her fingers over the runes. They burned. "We're missing something, but I don't know what it is."

"Then what if it doesn't work?"

Maerad wondered vaguely what the Nameless One would do if she failed to make the Song. "It will."

The Nameless One had stepped back now, eyeing the two Bards closely. "You will make the Music now, boy."

Hem's stomach was aching but under the gaze of the Nameless One he didn't dare refuse. He looked at Maerad briefly and said, "I'll strike the tuning fork. It will make the Music, but I don't know how to make the Song."

Maerad was staring horrified at Hem and the tuning fork. She was sure now that the piece that was missing was absolutely necessary, and that without it the Song would still not be made properly. The feeling was so intense that Maerad was in pain, like her blood was burning, and she was afraid to go any further.

Hem sank slowly to the floor of the throne room and deliberately struck the tuning fork to the marble. The sound that emanated from the fork filled the room, reverberating off the walls, making the panes of glass shake, making Hem's teeth ache. The sound was filling up Maerad and her body felt like a taught string, begging for release. She hovered her hands over the strings of her lyre, waiting, waiting for the right moment. The Music continued to echo around the room and though Maerad listened and she could hear the pattern of the Song, she knew it wasn't right. Playing it now, this would be wrong.

_The Light forgive me for what I will do, _Maerad thought, waited for an opening in the Music, and then struck the first cords.

Maerad began to sing the first stanzas and she felt the power of the Song around her. _No, daughter! No! _cried a voice from a great distance, and Maerad knew it was Ardina, beginning her to stop the Song. _The Song is not complete!_

_ I know! _Maerad cried back, but her voice was consumed by the Song.

As she continued to sing, her throat began to burn and her eyes watered. She felt the strength leave her body and her legs give out beneath her. Now kneeling, Maerad continued to play, but each breath was a struggle and, though she didn't see it, her fingers were bleeding from striking the stubborn cords.

_Elednor, you have betrayed me. _Maerad knew the cold, stern voice of Arkan. _I gave you the secrets of the Song and you give them to Sharma? You so easily surrender your power for the love of some paltry mortal? I was right, you should never have left me._

Maerad felt the use of her Name like a whip, but she couldn't stop singing. She didn't even bother to answer Arkan because she knew there was no response remotely justifiable. He had warned her she might be too weak to stop Sharma, and he had been right. As his cold consciousness left her, she felt a void where he had been. She knew then that he would never return to her, never could return to her, and the emptiness left her aching.

Turning away now from the uncomfortable realities inside her, Maerad looked up and saw the Nameless One was staring unblinking at her and her brother. He seemed to be muttering to himself, his hands making gestures in the air that she didn't recognize. She thought he must have been crafting the Binding, weaving it into the Song as she went, and a sudden terror gripped her. If she was making the Song and he was crafting the Binding with it, would she be somehow trapped with him? Were she and Hem to be cursed to the same fate? She thought of the stories, of his torment so unbearable it drove him mad, and she knew that if she were bound to share his fate she would rather die.

But it didn't matter. She could not stop the Song as it poured from her. She knew she was nearing the end, could hear the last stanzas approach, and knew that her fate would be sealed. The Nameless One's eyes were closed now, but his mouth was still moving, faster than before, and his hand were now beginning to glow with orbs of golden light. He was clutching the Song in his hands.

_Madness, _whispered Ardina's voice from far away. _The Song cannot be contained, it will be in him like a void. An unbearable eternity. _

Maerad had no time to consider what her warning meant because the last lines of the song passed her lips and she felt her breath go with it. She tried to inhale but it was like her lungs had turned to stone and the air couldn't get in. She dropped the lyre and it crashed the floor, she began to scrabble at her throat. Beside her, she heard a dull thump and saw that Hem had collapsed. The tuning fork rolled from his hand, making an ugly metallic noise as it banged against the floor. She pitched forward onto her hands, still gasping for breath.

Across from her, the light in the Nameless One's hand swelled and he curled his fingers into fists. Maerad looked up, transfixed, as the light in his palms seemed to seep into his skin, enter his blood and then flow down his arms, the veins and arteries turned to gold. As the light inched sluggishly up his arms, the Nameless One arched his back, screaming. As Maerad looked on, she the gold light flow over his upper arms, his shoulders, then into throat. He threw his head back, howling like raving maniac, and the gold light poured out of his mouth. Maerad thought he was breathing fire. Suddenly his head snapped upright, and he opened his eyes and then were pure gold-no white, no iris, no pupil, just gold.

He was staring at her. The heat of his gaze, the power of the Song trapped in his skin sent Maerad reeling. Her arms gave out and she crumpled in a pile on the floor. She still hadn't drawn a breath, she thought her heart had stopped beating, she was sure she was going to die. Something was grabbing at her shoulders, jerking her upright. The last thing she saw as darkness fell around her was a pair of very blue eyes.

* * *

Silvia knew she was trapped in a nightmare, but she couldn't wake herself, and so had to watch. She was in the music room, lying prostrate on the floor before one of the large couches, while two men grappled with each other. She could hear their cries as if through water, and her hand sluggishly came up and touched her ear. When she pulled it away, her fingers were covered in blood. Confused, she stared at the red that covered the tips of her fingers like paint.

A haggard face swam into view and she recognized Malgorn's worried eyes. She saw a cut on his cheek that was bleeding and his lip was split. He knelt down beside her cupped her face in his hand and said something. She blinked, shook her head, and he repeated it. In the distance, she heard roaring.

"…must go to the Singing Hall. The other Bards will be there. Quickly, my love."

"Malgorn, what happened?" she asked, touching his cheek.

"It's only a scratch." He took her hand in his and kissed it before sitting back and grabbed hold of a sword behind him. "The soldiers have breeched the city walls. We must meet the others and prepare to defend ourselves. Indik has called the First Circle already."

"I don't understand," she said, sitting up.

The music room was on fire. The candles that usually flickered pleasantly had erupted into wildfire, licking up the walls and across the ceiling. Silvia saw with horrifying clarity the wallpaper stenciled with flowers peeling under the heat, and beneath that, jagged black runes she didn't recognize. The heat was bending the instruments on the walls and she heard a screech as first the strings on a lyre snapped, then a harp, then a small guitar. Bits of the ceiling were flaking away, twirling like snow to the carpet and scorching small holes. Lying across from her was the corpse of a man in dark armor.

"Who are they?" she asked,

Malgorn shook his head helplessly, offering her a hand and pulling her to her feet. As soon as she was up a weight bore down on her, a feeling like a serpent wrapping around her throat and squeezing the life from her lungs. She wobbled on her feet. "They serve Dark. They came in the night and broke the gates. They streamed into the city slaughtering all in their path."

Silvia looked hard at Malgorn. She had rarely seen him with blade, and now he held one, the end dripping blood. He held it firmly in his hand and for some reason, Silvia recoiled from him. He was a gentle Bard, not a warrior. An unreasonable fear crossed her mind that he might turn the blade on her.

"Is the School breached?" she asked when Malgorn directed her to the door. Around them, the fires were growing, bottles holding Malgorn's sweet wine bursting under the intense heat.

"We don't know," said Malgorn, and he led her firmly into the hall. She heard shouts from above, saw the shadows of two people struggling and then one run through with a blade. She cried out in horror, but Malgorn pulled her on. "It's no use, Silvia! There's too many here and too few of us. Come!"

Malgorn dragged her into the street where the chaos of her house seemed but a pale comparison. The roaring she had heard were the houses, each of which was being consumed by the fire. People were running in the streets, being chased down by men in black armor, torn apart by wild hounds, their eyes pecked out but misshapen crows. She saw a small boy escape a house as its roof collapsed only to be stabbed by a man dressed in black. Silvia cried out but Malgorn tugged her on, heading unerringly for the School and the Singing Hall.

At first, she was confused that the soldiers weren't attacking her and Malgorn, but realized belatedly that she probably looked like some poor woman being pulled away by a captor. She was screaming for Malgorn to stop and help, and he was dragging her painfully by the wrist along the street. The sword in his hand was bright in the light of the burning city.

When they reached the School, they found gates hanging in their hinges. Malgorn cursed and turned to Silvia. "I do not know what is on the other side, but swear to me, Silvia, that you will run if I tell you. Swear you will go to the stables find a horse and flee as fast as you can."

"I won't leave you," she said breathlessly. "I won't leave you here to die alone."

Malgorn smiled sadly. "I'm not going to die, Silvia, I promise."

Before Silvia could answer Malgorn pushed through the doors to the School and they entered a small courtyard. It was a horrific sight. There were bodies of men, women, children, even horses, lying scattered about the grounds. Building were buckling under the fires and the statue of Lanogrim was missing its head. Silvia could hear the faint cries of people as they were cut down, but it seemed that she and Malgorn had missed the battle.

"Indik is here somewhere," said Malgorn, though his voice wavered. "He summoned the first circle to the Singing Hall."

Silvia switched her grip on Malgorn, clutching tightly at his wrist, and drew alongside him. The weight that had settled on her throat was still there, and now it was slinking down her legs, forcing her to drag her feet. Malgorn was saying something under his breath, but Silvia couldn't hear him. They had crossed the courtyard and were just approaching the doors to the Singing Hall when a shout went up and the door flew open.

Indik came out, swinging a blade at two men who swarmed down the steps. One of them raised his hand and a burst of pale light arched across the space between them. Indik threw up his hands in defense, but the force of the blow still sent him toppling backwards. Malgorn rushed forward, blocking the second man from slicing his throat. Silvia shouted after them both, but, realizing she had no weapon, fell back helplessly.

She watched, transfixed, as the men redoubled their efforts to deal with Malgorn and Indik. The ferocity of their fighting was unlike any other Silvia had seen and she was hit again by the sensation that Malgorn could turn the blade on her. As she watched, though, one of the armored men slid beneath Indik's defenses and delivered a blow to his thigh. Indik fell back, clutching the jagged gash with cry. Silvia raised her hand to summon white fire, but the weight on her pressed down more than before and she felt the bone in her wrist snap.

_There is no light here, _said a voice in the back on her mind.

She stared blankly at her broken wrist a moment but was pulled away when she heard a guttural cry and saw Indik fall, clutching a wound on his side. He fell to the ground catching her eye. She shook her head weakly, as if to convey that she would help but couldn't, and looked on in disgust as the man battling Indik drove his sword into his chest.

Silvia screamed, frantically looking to Malgorn. He turned once, at the sound of her voice. "Run!" he cried, as both the men came for him. "Run!"

_There is no light here, _whispered the voice again.

Silvia was up, struggling to run, but up and staggered away toward the stables. She didn't look back when she heard another painful cry, couldn't bear to see Malgorn fall to the men, and stumbled into the fountain of Lanogrim, gasping for breath. She clutched at her throat as the thing constricted her airflow and stared unsteadily at the water in the fountain, reflecting the erratic lights of the fire.

_There is no light here. _This time the voice was loud, snarling at her consciousness and it turned her stomach. She sank into a crouch, clutching herself and waiting for the thing to pass. Suddenly, she felt hands on her shoulders, hands with claws digging into her flesh and dragging her upright.

The voice, when it spoke, was in her ear and its breath was hot and harsh. "I am coming."

She looked up to see it and beheld a terrible face. A gaping mouth and huge red eyes that glittered in the darkness set in pale misshapen face that hung at an odd angle, as if it were broken. She opened her mouth to scream but no sound came out.

Silvia sat upright in bed, clutching her throat and staring wildly around the room. Her home was still here, the fires were gone, the city was silent and at peace under a waxing moon. She closed her eyes slowly and held them tightly closed, pushing away the nightmare. Her stomach still felt sick and her heart was still beating fast. She lifted her chin, drew a deep breath and turned to look at Malgorn sleeping beside her. She always found his calm, constant presence a balm for her anxiety.

But Malgorn was not asleep. He was sitting upright in bed, just like her. He was staring wide-eyed right at her, his eyes reflecting some nightmare all his own, but somehow just the same as hers. She reached out in the dark and cupped his chin, her thumb brushing over his lips. Malgorn closed his eyes and sighed, leaning against her hand.

"You saw it too?" she asked after a moment. "You heard the voice?"

Malgorn looked up. "I am coming," he whispered.

"What does it mean?" Silvia wondered. "Who's coming?"

"I can think of only one," Malgorn said after a beat. "And it does not have a Name."

* * *

The light of the setting sun glanced off the water like countless diamonds, flashing so hard and so bright that Nerili had to close her eyes. Still, bright pinpricks of light seemed burned into her retinas. She sighed, turning away from her view of the ocean and settled at a table in her rooms. Spread before her were a number of scrolls, historical accounts from the time of the Great Silence. She pushed them aside carelessly and helped herself to a glass of wine instead. The dark, bitter drink made her purse her lips.

_This is pointless, _she thought, learning back and surveying the mess of her study. _Wherever the Song is, it's certainly not in my library. _

She frowned, discomfited. When Cadvan had arrived with stories of a Song that the Nameless One himself had used to bind himself to the mortal world, Nerili had been skeptical. She had always taken Cadvan at his word, he was, after all, a Truthteller as well as a gifted Bard, but it had seemed almost impossible that no mention of the Song had been written in any of the libraries in all of Annar and the seven kingdoms. Still, the night of Midsummer came back to her, a bitter reminder that the Dark was tightening the noose, and if Cadvan believed the Song existed, perhaps it was their only hope to stop it. She had thrown herself into the search with a fervor she hadn't shown in years of minding the Barding of Busk. Though she would never admit it, part of her wanted to prove herself to Cadvan, demonstrate that his leaving Busk-and her- all those years ago had been a mistake.

She sighed. It had been childish to think that she could keep him here with nothing but her wit and charm. Besides…Nerili was no fool when it came to the Ways of the Heart. Though Cadvan might have been blind to it, she saw the way he looked at his young student. Though he did a good job disguising his feelings-from Maerad and himself-occasionally he would let the carefully constructed mask fall away and look at the girl with unveiled desire and admiration. Perhaps he wasn't in _love_ with her, but he certainly looked on her the way a man might a beautiful woman. Maerad, for her part, had proven aloof.

_You can't win all the battles, _Nerili told herself sternly. _Besides, Cadvan left your life a long while ago. Let him chase his pretty, little student. _It was a hard lesson, and though she regretted the loss of a future with Cadvan, she bore no ill will to Maerad. _You cannot force a person to love you. _

She leaned back, took another sip of her wine, and glanced at another stack of papers. These were reports from mainland, stories of the goings on in Schools. It appeared Enkir had grown tired of waiting for word of his fellow Schools and had issued decrees that all Schools denying him were traitor to the White Flame. He was amassing an army to march on the Il Arunedh and demand the First Circle acknowledge his authority and surrender to him. Busk, which had been named traitor early on, had prepared their armada and sent word out that they might need to raise an army. There was no shortage of support from the School or the city. The people of Thorold were proud and more than willing to defend their own. Now it seemed only a matter of time.

There was a knock on her door. "Neri? May I join you?"

"Elenxi, of course, come in."

She smiled wanly at her uncle as he entered and closed the door carefully. He paused on the step, eyes glancing over the papers and scrolls and the half empty bottle of wine. "You seem in a fine mood," he said ironically.

She laughed tiredly and gestured for him to join her table, pouring a glass of wine as he came. "I spend half my day preparing for battle and the other half searching for the elusive Song. No word from Cadvan, then?"

"Whispers that he and Maerad were spotted in Innail, but I put little stock by it. I heard just a week ago they were at Murask. He keeps himself hidden, that one."

"All the better, what with the Dark and Light searching for them." Though she didn't say it, the strain in her voice belied her worry. "Still, if he found something in the North, I would like to know."

"I'm sure Cadvan would send word if it was safe, but roads are perilous and I imagine quite a few people might jump at the chance to arrest those two if word got around." Elenxi swirled his wine and sipped it. "You might be happy to know the armada is in good condition and the people have begun harvesting crop early to store for rations. At this rate, we'll have enough food to last island at least nine months, perhaps a year if need be."

Nerili clasped her hands together. "Good news, indeed. I hear that war will be coming our way soon."

"We'll be ready for it," Elenxi said, a bright gleam in his eyes. "Though I've given some thought to the civilians, and I think it's best that should the Dark send its armies our way, we evacuate them into the mountains."

"That is probably for the best," Nerili agreed. "Though if it comes to that, running to the mountains won't protect them. This island is isolated, a blessing as well as a curse."

"But no one knows the island like our people. If forces from Norloch come, they will be hard put to navigate the treacherous terrain without guidance." Elenxi, who made frequent trips to visit his brother in the mountains, knew well enough the risk of wandering the slopes aimlessly. It was certainly a fast way to die.

Nerili sipped at her glass of wine, a hard look in her eye. "It is true that the mountain protects its people."

Tiredly, she stood and wandered back to the window, swirling the wine carelessly in her hand. The sun had sunk below the horizon now, and the moon was peeking out from behind clouds. She wondered where Maerad was now, and whether she was any closer to unraveling the mystery of the Song. Below her, the city had come alive and a thousand lights winked at her, pushing back the darkness. She could just make out the barest view of gardens under torches, house porches, fountains babbling softly, ships in the harbor. Then, quite suddenly, the twinkling lights began to blaze.

She gasped, watching horrified as the flames grew higher and higher, filling the streets with angry red light. She blinked and when she opened her eyes again, the city was ablaze. From her room, she could hear the sound of metal clanging, people screaming, and the roar of fire as it went house to house, toppling buildings in a hungry progression. She looked frantically to the harbor and saw the ships on fire, sinking into the black water while people thrashed about, unable to go to shore where soldiers in black armor waited. Nerili turned to the School and could see the broken gates and the horde of ravenous soldiers streaming in, their weapons flashing like teeth in the cruel light. She looked on as the Bards ran to meet the soldiers, but the White Fire wouldn't come to their hands, and they were cut down where they stood. Blood pooled on the cobbled stone roads.

Nerili stepped back from the window, dropping the wine. She felt something slink up her legs, wrap tight around her waist and shoulders, gripping her in a merciless embrace. She tried to cry out, but the thing had snaked around her throat and was squeezing, forcing the breath from her lungs. She stood, irresolute, a tingling sensation running up her arms and legs a to her spine. She recognized it. It was fear.

"I am coming," said a voice, breathing against the back of her neck. She thought she felt something brush against her throat, like the forked tongue of a snake, and she gave a sharp, breathless cry. Whatever it was laughed, enjoying the sensation of her terror. "I am coming, Neri."

"Neri!" a voice was saying above her. "Neri, but the Light, the wake up!"

Nerili opened her eyes. She was lying on the cold floor of her study, her cheek pressed into stone. She could see her wine glass inches from her face, shattered in a pool of dark red liquid. The light of the candles was reflected in the wine, dancing like the fire in her vision. She sat up abruptly, gasping with the memory.

"What was it? What happened?" Elenxi knelt before her, holding her hands to stop them shaking. "You gave a terrible cry and then collapsed to the ground. You were thrashing about like someone was choking you, grabbing at your throat." He reached up and gently stroked her face. "You were weeping."

Nerili looked at her uncle, and, feeling like a small child again, took her hand in her and grasped it tight. "It saw a horrible vision. I saw Busk burning, our people slaughtered, the School in ruins. And something…something held me fast so I couldn't move. It made my stomach turn and my legs go weak. It was a creature of the Dark."

Elenxi was staring at her in utter confusion. "You had a vision of our defeat?"

"I saw only death and destruction," she said in a voice raw with emotion. "And fire, fire everywhere."

"But the Dark creature," Elenxi pressed. "What did it do."

Nerili shook her head slowly, recalling the feeling of helplessness as it held her fast and whispered in her ear. "I am coming," she whispered. "That's all it said. I am coming."

"What's coming?"

Nerili didn't need to guess who had stolen into her dreams and given her that nightmare vision. She didn't need to guess what creature of the Dark had such power as to show her that future. "The Nameless One."

* * *

Nelac leaned back against the wall of his cell carefully, aching in every bone in her body. He looked across at the door, waiting for the telltale sound of footsteps to signal his evening meal, but none came. He wondered vaguely is Enkir had decided to simply starve him to death, since he couldn't convince the First Circle to sign his death warrant. Enkir had reach, but not that far, and no Bard even remotely close to the Light would agree to execute another human.

_For now, his power is checked, _Nelac thought.

It didn't give him much hope, though. The rumors he had heard, limited though they were in his prison, were not good. Unrest had given way to civil war, and Enkir was marching on Schools that would not grant him authority. Where he had amassed such an army, and who had funded it, Nelac couldn't guess, but it was even now marching for Il Arunedh. He had heard, too, that the Dark army of Den Raven had laid waste to Baladh, Jerr-Niken and Turbansk. If Enkir conquered the west and the Nameless One claimed the east, there would be no escape.

_But no word yet of Maerad and Cadvan, _he thought hopefully. For truly, as long they were free to find the Song, there would be hope. _Perhaps they have fled to the far north and are even now unravelling the mysteries of the Tree Song. _

He saw Maerad in his mind's eye: a small girl, certainly too young to have the future of Annar and seven kingdoms laid on her shoulders, but brave all the same. And she had Cadvan. Surely, he was capable of protecting her; he didn't think there could be a Bard better suited to the task. But all the same…two armies hunting them, and only so many places to run to.

_I am coming, _said a voice, and Nelac's eyes snapped open. The voice was like ice water running down his spine. He looked around, but there was no one. He heard laughter all around him, bouncing around the inside of his skull. _I am coming. _

It was the briefest vision, a glimpse into a dark room. He saw two figures, one lying lifeless upon a black marble floor, the other crouched over it protectively. He didn't recognize them at first, for they were clouded in shadows, but he heard the muffled cries of a man and saw the figure shake the other. He narrowed his gaze and the vision cleared a little. With a horrified gasp, he recognized the feminine features of a young woman with long dark hair, held tightly in the grip of a man.

_Maerad, _he thought, looking at her pale, slack face.

If that was Maerad, then the man holding her- _Inareskai!_ Nelac cried.

The man's-_Cadvan's_-gaze jerked up and stared shrewdly in Nelac's direction. He frowned like he had heard something. Nelac saw his face for a single moment, saw his blue eyes searching in the gloom desperately, and saw him flinch as the shadows moved closer around him and Maerad. He watched Cadvan lift Maerad so her face was tucked against the crook of his neck, and protectively wrap another arm around her. Something large and covered in shadow lurched over them, and the last thing Nelac saw of Cadvan and Maerad was Cadvan pleading noiselessly as darkness descended on them.

"Cadvan!" Nelac cried hoarsely.

There was a soft voice in his ear, a whisper like a breeze. _I have come. _

Nelac sank back against the wall, shuddering. He knew that voice, though he'd never heard it, he knew it. "The Light save us," he whispered to the empty room.

* * *

Cadvan's gathered Maerad up off the floor, running his hands over her face. "Maerad, Maerad, for the love the Light, wake up." He shook her, more violently than he intended, and her head snapped back and forth on her neck._ Elednor! _he tried again, but Maerad didn't move. She was pale and cold. _Elednor!_

Maerad's head tipped back and he saw her throat, but there was no pulse. He clutched her tightly against him, whispering her name in her ear. Still she didn't wake. His reserve abandoned, Cadvan kissed her forehead, her cheeks, each of her closed eyes, drawing ragged breaths in between. He pleaded with Maerad to come back to him, but she continued to hang limply in his arms.

_Please don't leave me here, _he begged. _Please, Maerad, you swore you would stay with me through this Darkness. You said we wouldn't be separated. Don't go. _He didn't care any more that the Nameless One would see his memories, know the depth and desperation of his love. He just wanted Maerad to open her eyes and say his name. He couldn't bear the future if she wasn't in it, couldn't imagine facing the Darkness alone. _Please, Elednor. _

Faint movement and a whisper of air escaping her lips alerted Cadvan to Maerad's presence. He sat back and looked down at her face. Her eyelids fluttered open and he saw the glimpse of pale blue. Her tongue peeked out and licked over her dry lips.

"Oh, Cadvan, I've never been so tired in my life," she whispered. Her hand came up uncertainly and she stroked his cheek with her fingertips. "Can you help me back to my bed?"

Cadvan's breath rattled out of him. He took her hand that was against his cheek and pressed it there, felt the warmth returning to her palm. "I'll take care of you, Maerad. Just stay with me."

"I can't walk," said Maerad ironically. "I'm all yours."

Cadvan choked on a laugh, stroked her hair. "Sleep now, Maerad. When you wake up it'll all be over."

"A nap sounds lovely," she murmured, and her eyes promptly shut. Cadvan waited a moment until he saw the steady rise and fall of her chest. He sat back, still holding her, and noticed Saliman in much the same state he was.

"They live," said Saliman, holding Hem's hand and brushing the hair out of the boy's eyes. "He is tired, more tired than I've ever seen a Bard, but alive."

"They will need food and water and rest," said Cadvan, still holding Maerad protectively against him. "Though the Light knows where we're going to find that."

Saliman fell silent, looking down at Hem and wiping the blood from his cheek. "Do you really think the Nameless One will give them that? I'd be surprised if he didn't order them executed after this."

Cadvan hissed. "I gave him my _Name _in exchange for her life."

Saliman fixed Cadvan a piercing look. "Is that the cost of our student's lives? Must we trade ourselves for their safety?" It took Cadvan a moment to realize Saliman was really asking. He wanted a way out, but if it came down to it, Cadvan didn't doubt Saliman would surrender to the Nameless One. He thought of his own Name, his own secret self laid bare to the malice of the Nameless One, and in that moment, he could have sworn someone said his Name.

_Inareskai_

Cadvan jerked upright, searching the room for the source. It didn't feel like the Nameless One, who used Cadvan's Name like a weapon again him. No…no it felt different. Softer, like a gentle hand on his brow when he was ill. It was like a beam of Light had pierced the Dark around him and he ached from the feeling.

_I know that voice, _he thought, _I know that voice._

But it was gone, and though Cadvan strained to see into the dark corners of the room, he saw nothing. He shook himself, forcing his thoughts back into the moment and the issue at hand. Saliman was still beside him, watching Hem sleep, and Maerad was still tight in his embrace, but they were quite defenseless in the middle of the throne room. Cadvan wished that he had Arnost back.

"And what would you do with it, even if you did?"

The Nameless One's voice had taken on a beautiful melodic quality, the strain that had before been a mark of his crimes against the Song, was gone. It sounded like he could finally breathe. Neither Bard turned toward the sound of the voice, terrified of what they might see, but the sound of footsteps on the marble came closer and closer, finally pausing right behind them. Though they didn't feel the usual wash of cold that ran down their backs at the Nameless One's presence, there was no doubting his nearness.

"Cadvan, I asked you what you would do with Arnost even if you had it." He felt something probing at his consciousness, something unbearably hot.

"Nothing, but a wise man would rather have a weapon at a time like this."

"A time like this?" the Nameless One asked curiously. "Certainly, you don't think I'm going to hurt you? After all you have done to help me? It was for love of you that Maerad sang, I am _indebted_ to you." He was laughing at them, Cadvan could hear it in his sweet voice. "You are as much responsible for my return to power as she is. I owe you a reward."

"Then free us," said Cadvan thickly. "Let us leave Dagra."

"There is nowhere to go. Even now my armies march on Edil Amarandh, and soon, I will lay waste to the Schools and the Bards and all the beautiful places in the world. You do not want to be caught in chaos that will consume this land, Cadvan…no, no I will keep you safe, here in my tower."

"I'd rather take my chances out there."

"Ah, but Maerad is in no condition to go trapezing around Annar, is she? No, you will stay here, as my honored guests and loyal subjects." The Nameless One reached out and touched the nap of Cadvan neck. He jerked away instinctively, but then noticed that the claws that usually dug into his flesh were gone. He felt only smooth hands brushing the delicate skin there. "Come, Cadvan, would you not lay eyes on your liege lord."

Stiffly, equally curious and terrified of what he might see, Cadvan turned on the spot. Beside him, Saliman dared the same. The Nameless One stood before them, still dressed in his dark robes, still wearing his rings of dark stone, still smiling too wide for his face, but the similarities ended there. He was a man, at least in most respects. He was tall, at least as tall as Saliman, and with the same dark skin, a muscular frame and narrow waist, strong legs and toned arms. He was handsome in the face, with high cheek bones and bright brown eyes, his dark, thick hair was close cropped and stubble on his chin hinted at a beard. But his smile was still too wide.

Cadvan looked down to the hand touching him and saw the long fingers of a musician. When the Nameless One saw him looking, he drew his hand back, smiling. "I am free of my form, free to be what I once was, free to be a man."

Saliman felt sick looking at him because there _was_ something wrong. He was certainly the shape of a man, but he didn't feel like one any more than a lion felt like a kitten. Saliman carefully moved to place himself between him the Hem in case the Nameless One attacked again. The Nameless One noted the movement and laughed, and they saw that is teeth were even and white.

"Do not fear for the boy, I shan't hurt him," but they knew it was a lie. The Nameless One was teasing them, enjoying their fear at his transformation. "But perhaps you do not believe me? Perhaps you are wary of me? So be it. You four have served your purpose nobly, and I recognize such loyalty when I see it. Go. Go to the rooms I have had my men prepare for you, nurse your hurts and tend to your friends."

Cadvan and Saliman saw a Hull waiting by the door, looking at them with contempt, but waiting for them nonetheless. They both stumbled to their feet, gathering up the two Bards from Pellinor and retreating quickly. As they went, though, the Nameless One laughed again, so loud it seemed the panes of glass in the windows shook.

"And prepare yourselves, because when next I summon you, it will be with conquest in mind."


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

"I do not think we need to bother asking. We all had a vision last night. A vision of Innail, burning while an army in black armor raided the town, and a warning: I am coming." Malgorn looked darkly around the table at the three Bards assembled there. "I take it none of us are in confusion as to who it is that's coming?"

Indik slammed a hand on the table. "How? How is it that we have just evaded the Landrost and his army, and another comes marching our way?"

"That is always how the Dark moves, is it not?" said Malgorn. "Throwing the might of its forces against the Light in hope that it wears away at us." Malgorn sighed and bowed his head. "We must prepare."

"We will have to raise _another _army," said Kelia. "Fight _another _war. And who knows how far away this nightmare army is? How long do we have before they come on us?"

"There's no word yet from other Schools that the Nameless One's army has left the south," said Silvia, "and we are far enough north that we will hear the bells of war long before we see them."

"It does not sit well with me," said Indik thoughtfully. He sat back in his seat, studying his hands as if assessing the strength left in him. "We will simply have to wait until we have word from other Schools of the approaching army? The Nameless One would like to keep us in the dark as long as possible. This suits him."

"And what of Enkir?" Kelia pressed. "There is word he moves against Il Arunedh. Will he bring war from the east?"

"No word comes from the Norloch," Malgorn replied, thinking of Nelac who was said to be imprisoned there. "We can only begin to guess where Enkir will take his forces."

"I like not the idea of fighting fellow Bards," Indik said. "I would rather the army of the Nameless One come our way than take up weapons against other Bards."

"Regardless of who comes, we will have to raise an army, and I somehow think this time we will have to face the Dark without Maerad." Silvia looked sternly around the table. "How many men do we have? What state are the defenses?"

Indik stared at the table before giving a hollow laugh. "Not enough. The Landrost set us back, not the mention the damage to the city walls. We'll have to rebuild our defenses before I can assess the state of the defenses!"

"We will need help from outside the School then," said Silvia decidedly. "Call on the trades men."

An uncomfortable silence met this statement. Malgorn looked into the faces of the other Bards and knew they were thinking the same thing: the people of Innail were still bitter, the people of Innail would be slow to respond to a call for help. When no one said anything, Silvia clasped her hands together tightly.

"It is not a question of whether they will help us," she said, exasperated. "If the Dark is coming for us, it will come for them too. They must understand this."

"Understand that an army they cannot see is going to attack at an unseen date?" Indik asked shrewdly. "We'll be hard put to convince them that the need is urgent."

"We must," Silvia responded evenly. She looked to Malgorn, who was staring out the window down on the School. "And what of those who cannot fight? Shall we evacuate them?"

"To where?" Kelia glanced around the table. "Where could possibly be safe now?"

"The nearest School I trust is Lirigon," Malgorn said thoughtfully. "I will send a raven today, asking the First Circle if they have had the same foredream. If they too are aware of the encroaching Dark, they may take our refugees, especially if we…" Malgorn didn't finish the sentence, cut off by his own despair.

"Especially if we bear the brunt of the attack," Indik finished. "Aye, if the Nameless One is sending an army north, they will come to Innail before moving on to Lirigon. We could offer a last defense for the School."

Silence greeted this bland statement as the truth stared them in the face. Innail would fall to the army of the Nameless One, their people would be butchered-or worse, and the beautiful School would be cast down. This would be an acceptable loss, a willing sacrifice to get the innocents safely away and stall the spread of Dark through the land. They weren't really fighting to win, they were fighting to delay the worst of it.

"Do we tell them?" Malgorn whispered, his lips barely moving. "Do we tell the people that this isn't a battle we can win? Should we warn them that the end is coming now?"

Indik pressed his lips together. "It isn't right to enlist warriors under a lie, but I can't imagine that any will stay once they know the truth."

"The Bards will," said Silvia staunchly. "The Bards will not abandon the Light."

"Shall we follow Turbansk then? Do we lure the army of the Nameless One in and then topple the city on it?" Malgorn moved from the table to the nearest window. His eyes were dark as he looked out on the beautiful School dappled in spring light. "Do you think they would fall for such a trick again?"

"We don't exactly have a choice." Indik was looking long and hard at Malgorn, a measure of dislike there. He always respected Malgorn as a Bard, but as a warrior…Malgorn was suited to the duties of the School, not the duties of war. "If we make a stand and fight, we'll be cut down. But we must be wary of a mass exodus, too. The spies of the Dark will be expecting just such a trap after the mess at Turbansk and if they see too many of our people fleeing, they will know our intentions."

"Then we begin to evacuate immediately but slowly." Siliva was watching Malgorn as well, but was thinking of the other day when he came into her room and looked at her with such boundless passion. She had a sudden thought that she would never leave his side, even were the army of the Dark pounding on their very gates. "We can send word to Lirigon today that we intend to stand against the Nameless One's army to buy them more time to prepare and fortify their defenses. In exchange, they will take our people and all the goods we can send them."

Kelia breathed out loudly through her nose. "I will alert the School to the oncoming attack. Sending the general public away is good thing-this isn't their fight-but Bards, at least, should be given a choice whether they stay or go. They deserve to fight the Dark if they choose."

Malgorn sighed and turned back from the window. "So be it. I haven't a clue how long before the army comes our way, perhaps a month? I want caravans of people leaving every other day, and I want them taking everything they own, all the food they can carry, with them. Indik, if you can enlist the help of the craftsmen and begin the task of repairing the walls, it would be a great help."

"I thought we'd seen the worst with the Landrost," Kelia admitted to the quiet table. "But even then, we had Maerad and her Elemental Gifts. Do you think there is any chance she will come to our aid again? Perhaps she is even now gathering her strength to stop the Nameless One once and for all?"

Silvia reflected on the last time she had seen Maerad and Cadvan, riding swiftly away in the night. She'd briefly seen the girl's grim smile before they'd turned and galloped off. "She may even now be moving against the Dark, but I do not think she will ride through the gates of Innail in time to stop this army."

"Let us prepare as though Maerad will not come," Malgorn said decisively. "If it is to be the end of Innail, then let us make such a stand that the Bards a thousand years from now sing of our courage. Let us not be forgotten.

Indik flashed him a crooked smile. "I do not think lack of the courage is what they will sing. For nowhere else in all of Annar and the seven kingdoms could you find a people more willing to defend that which they love."

Malgorn's eyes moved briefly to Silvia. _Yes_, he thought, _I would die defending what I love._

The First Circle went their ways, but Silvia hung back, watching Malgorn carefully. "I'm not going with the refugees," she said simply. "I know you're going to ask me to go, but I won't leave Innail or you."

Malgorn sighed and covered his face with his hands. "I do not see us surviving an attack by the Nameless One. I cannot bear the thought of you being here when the city falls."

Silvia shook her head angrily, images from her dream swarming before her eyes. "And you think I will sleep easier knowing you were in the city when the Dark destroyed it? You think I will rest easy when I think of my husband-the man I love-lying dead, or worse, in thrall to the Dark? How could you imagine I would leave you?"

"Because you know what happens to the women in war! You know you will not die a quick death on a sword! And I know it, and the thought of you like that sickens me. I cannot bear the idea."

Silvia was across the room in a moment, Malgorn's hand clutched in hers tightly. "I love you. Would you ask me to abandon that which I love for fear of the Dark? That is when the Dark truly wins: when we forsake that which we love for fear. You know this is true."

Malgorn stared at Silvia's hands around his and felt his heart beat painfully. "If I could, I would go with you. The two of us would outrun this storm, hidden far away in some village, waiting for the Dark to pass."

"But you are the First Bard, and you are a good man and a leader true of heart. You will stay and defend your people." Silvia lifted his hands to her lips and kissed them. "I fell in love with that man, and I knew the risks of it. I will stay at your side now, and we will face the Dark together, no matter the end."

Malgorn raised his eyes and found Silvia staring intensely at him, her gaze unblinking and the firm set of her lips unwavering. He knew she was not going to leave him, no matter what he told her. He knew she would be on the walls of the city, watching as the army of the Dark approached, and she would fight as viciously and valiantly as any warrior for that which she loved. And he loved her for it, but it hurt.

"I never thought it would come to this, my love. I thought you and I would grow old together, spending the rest of our days here, teaching and tending and loving well. I wanted that with you."

"I know you did," Silvia said softly. "And knowing will have to be enough." She lifted her face and pressed her lips firmly to Malgorn's. Vaguely, she wondered how many more times she would kiss him in the warm light of day, how many more moments they would share like this. She deepened the kiss, leaning against him. "And whatever future we have left, I will spend it with you."

Malgorn smiled sadly down on her. "Until the very end?"

"Whatever end."

* * *

"You've the favor of our master, it seems," said the Hull blankly to Cadvan as it led him and Saliman through the long halls of the tower. They were going up, Cadvan noted, far away from the dungeons and the chains he and Maerad had spent the last few weeks in. "A set of rooms has been made ready. You ought to be grateful for your change of fortune."

Cadvan eyed the Hull darkly. "I would rather live homeless in the street than in the most lavish rooms Dagra can offer."

"Fortunately, it's not your say. Our master rewards loyalty and you have served him well." The Hulls glanced back, smirking maliciously at the girl unconscious in Cadvan's arms. "How else could he have convinced the Pellinor brat to give him the Song but through you? I think we all agree that you are certainly deserving of a reward."

"I have done nothing to help your master-"

"_Our_ master," the Hull cut in.

"And if it were up to me, the Song would have killed him." Cadvan waited, curious to see how this statement settled with the Hulls. But they merely laughed, as if his wishing the Nameless One was dead was all in good humor.

"You should have known better than to think he would die. How could he? He is immortal. Come, Cadvan, you are wiser than that. You knew he would live, and you knew what you were doing when you convinced the girl to love you so dearly. It was well done."

Cadvan prepared another sharp retort, but he noticed Saliman's tight face and stopped. He was certainly safe from the wrath of the Nameless One, but Saliman and Hem were not, and pushing the Hulls to anger would only hurt them. "And where has my good service landed me?"

"A very nice room in the north tower, so you and yours may look out over the city and watch as the army departs for Annar and the seven kingdoms. You will be well served."

Though none of that sounded particularly enjoyable, Cadvan thought that after her ordeal, Maerad might be better off in the bed than on the floor of a cell. And, if he had to admit it to himself, he missed the simple comforts of mattresses and blankets and pillows. Still, he had no desire to be seen as grateful or indebted to the Nameless One, so when they arrived at a set of mahogany double doors, he stared, unimpressed.

"For now, you are to remain in your rooms. If you try to leave, we will know, and you will be…_returned_. When our master wishes to speak with you, you will be summoned." The Hulls flicked its red gaze to Saliman and Hem. "Remember that you are guests here and are expected to behave as such. No one appreciates rude lodgers."

Saliman frowned. Of all of the descriptions he had given himself, _guest _was certainly not one of them. "And how long before we may expect a call from the Nameless One."

"Oh, I dare say he will have to see to you soon. We can't have Bards running underfoot, can we?" The Hull's eyes glimmered hungrily as it reached past them and opened the door. When an exaggerated gesture, it directed them into the room. "Perhaps you ought to take the time to consider where your loyalties lie, and how best you may serve our master."

Cadvan shifted Maerad in his hands and backed into the room, uncomfortable with the idea of exposing his back to the creature. Saliman followed him and before they could get out one last scathing remark to the Hull, it slammed the door shut. Cadvan stared at the door a minute longer, listening for the click of a lock, but he heard none. Slowly, he turned on the spot to see just what accommodations the Nameless One had provided.

They were handsome rooms, Cadvan noted coldly. He was standing in what appeared to be a large sitting room with vaulted ceilings and a wall of grated windows that cast twisting shadows on the stone floor. There was a large mantle and hearth on the left wall, and arrayed before it, two large chairs and a couch made of the same dark wood as the door but with wine red cushions. There was a low table between them and Cadvan saw at once that someone had laid out food: a bowl of bright fruit and a tray of cheeses and cold meats. Near the mantle was a door flung open and through it Cadvan could just see the tiled floor of a large bathroom. On the opposite wall, a door led to a bedroom; Cadvan hefted Maerad up and marched through the door.

Like the sitting room, the wall that faced north was set with large grated windows. There was a smaller hearth, and on a rug before it, two chairs and a side table. A large bed dominated most of the room. Multiple mattresses were stacked up so it stood high off the ground, and rich blankets and pillows were pilled up on it. He saw a wardrobe on the far wall and wondered if the Nameless One had arranged for clothes for them already.

Saliman's breath hissed out of him when he entered the room behind Cadvan. "He'll keep you well, it seems."

"For a price," Cadvan answered sharply. "Let's put Maerad and Hem here. They'll need rest after the signing."

They deposited Maerad and Hem on the bed, and the two young Bards immediately sank into the mattress. Cadvan tossed the blankets over them and, in a brief moment of tenderness, brushed the hair off Maerad's face. He thought of gently brushing a kiss on her cheek but stopped himself. Beside Saliman being there, he knew he needed to speak to Maerad of the things that had only recently passed. There seemed no point denying anymore that he loved her, and it seemed, given her singing of the Song, that she loved him. But he wanted to speak with her, explain himself to her. Instead he propped her up on a pillow and watched a minute while her face relaxed and she sighed sleepily.

"Who knows how long they'll sleep, or what condition they'll be in when they wake," said Saliman, watching from behind Cadvan. Hem's face had gone a shade of pale he hadn't thought possible, and he suspected that such magery would have killed any other Bard. "We can keep an eye on them, though."

Cadvan nodded listlessly and he and Saliman left the bedroom for the sitting room. Though there were logs in the grate no fire had been lit. Cadvan knelt to conjure up a flame, too tired to bother with proper tools, but when he raised his hand and summoned fire, nothing happened. He stared at his own hands, nonplussed. Frowning, he tried again, and this time he felt something tingle at the base of his spine. His arm felt suddenly very cold and his hand dropped limply to the ground.

"Saliman, can you start a fire?" he asked in bland tones, hoping the other Bard had not seen his failed attempt.

When Saliman joined him, his sharp smile told Cadvan he had. "Of course. I suppose you haven't seen a good warm fire in days. Do you know how long you've been here?" He toyed with the logs in the hearth, muttered some words of his own, then a spark sprang from his palm to the nearest log. A flame raced along the wood, catching here and there, and within a minute, a warm fire was blazing before them.

"I don't rightly know," sighed Cadvan, his mind still half on his failed magic. "It couldn't have been more than two weeks in Dagra. Maybe a week or so traveling with the Hulls? It seems a lifetime ago that we were in Innail."

"So, you _were_ at Innail?" Saliman said with the briefest of smiles. "That's where we were headed when…when we were waylaid."

Cadvan glanced up at the change in Saliman's voice. "What happened?"

Saliman retold in brief their capture at the hands of the Hulls and whatever Dark creature they had summoned. "I'm only grateful Hekibel escaped. Hopefully, she made it to Innail; I told her of Silvia and Malgorn. They would take her in, surely?" He looked worried, which, Cadvan thought, was saying something as they were currently prisoners of the Nameless One.

"I am sure Silvia would not allow a friend of yours to wander homeless though the streets of Innail." He studied Saliman's face closely. "You cared deeply for this woman."

Saliman slammed a hand down on the arm of his chair, staring darkly into the fire. "By the Light, I worried I was too easy to read! I'm sure Sharma has some interrogation planned and I hoped that I could spare her." He looked away from the fire to study Cadvan's face. The other Bard's brow was furrowed, his eyes dark. He had not spoken to Cadvan in months and when last they had met, Cadvan did not seem particularly captivated by Maerad. He wondered what had changed in that time. "Did Sharma know when he brought you here?"

Cadvan, who had been trying vainly to light a small spark in his palm with no success, stirred. "Know what?"

Saliman raised an eyebrow sardonically. "Your feelings for Maerad."

"I think he hoped it would be the case."

Cadvan considered his feelings for Maerad pragmatically. When he had first brought her to Innail and seen her in her proper form, he was attracted to her, though perhaps more attracted to her ignorance regarding his past. He had taken small pride in being her sole companion about Innail, watching other men stare blankly at Maerad's preference for him. But attraction didn't equate to love. He thought that the first time he noticed a change in his feelings was in Busk, but the events that followed had been so dark and troubling he had not examined those feelings again as he suspected that his behavior was partly to blame for Maerad's distance.

"I think we were wrong believing the Nameless One to be ignorant of the Ways of the Heart. At least, we were wrong to think that he didn't understand love. He knew it-knew how to use it against us-and even twist it to use the Song." Cadvan remembered the Nameless One's warning to him, that he had spent a thousand years studying the Ways of the Heart. "Don't misunderstand me. I do not think the Nameless One can love, but I think he understands what love makes a person _do_. And he is adept at manipulating that."

Saliman thought of the last time he had seen Hekibel riding away into the night and wished fiercely he could have gone with her. "Is that what happened to you?"

Cadvan's face hardened and Saliman was shocked by the pain that entered his eyes. "You must believe me when I tell you I did not _want _to give him my Name. I offered him everything else besides it, my services, promises, oaths, but he would take none of them."

"I believe you, Cadvan, of course I believe you." Saliman had rarely seen Cadvan appear so desolate and wanted to clasp him in an embrace. "But you…you look as if nothing was done to you. Aside from a few bruises and a limp, you seem in good health."

Cadvan covered his face in his hands. "He showed me something so-so terrible. I could not deny him after what I saw."

"What did you see?" Saliman thought suddenly of Turbansk, its beautiful towers toppled under the might of the Dark. "Was it Lirigon?"

"What?" Cadvan looked up, utterly confused. "No…no it was a…a memory. _His _memory of Andomian and Berludh. He told me that Maerad and I were so alike to them, that if I refused him she would share Berludh's fate."

Saliman had gone pale. "They died in darkness in this very tower. No one ever knew what became of them."

"Well I had the pleasure of seeing part of it," said Cadvan dryly. "It was vile. I would not allow Maerad to share her fate. I thought it was just _my_ Name, just _me_! What could having _my_ Name mean for Maerad and the Song?"

Saliman shook his head slowly. "Cadvan, did you really think you were not a part of this?"

"Well, now see where it has gotten us? The Nameless One is cunning, far more than I previously thought. And now," Cadvan looked back to the fire, crackling merrily in the grate as if to mock him, "now that he has returned to power, I fear what will become of us. He has an empire to conquer and Bards like us at his disposal. I think he will use us and we will act in the name of love."

"He does not know yet of Hekibel. She is no Bard, no woman of great renown." Saliman knew he was grasping at straws, though. "Perhaps I can hide her from him."

Cadvan doubted very much that Saliman would be able to keep anything from the Nameless One. "He will force your mind," he said hollowly. "He will see _everything_ you seek to keep hidden. And I don't doubt that he'll bring her here for you, but only as the proverbial carrot for the donkey."

Saliman digested this news quietly before saying softly, "Does it hurt? When he's inside you?"

Cadvan grimaced. His memories of those days he lay on the floor of the throne room, twisting under the might of the Nameless One were vivid. "It feels like fire. All the barriers you build, all the walls to protect your inner self, he strips away, and it feels like he's dragging claws over your body as he does it. The fire seeps into your blood and you feel it with each breath you take. Sometimes I thought I was going to die, I thought I was going to choke because I couldn't bear to breathe, but he wouldn't let me die. It just kept going."

Saliman didn't say a word, but his hands were gripping the arms of his chair so tightly his knuckles had gone white. Cadvan's eyes darted to the fire, then back to his hands, which he clenched together.

"And now there is a sort of _hole_ in my mind. It's like a raw wound that he occasionally prods at. I don't think it will ever heal. At first, it ached, just a constant throbbing in the back of my mind that made it near impossible for me to concentrate, but the pain fades after a while. He's there though." Cadvan looked up suddenly and caught Saliman's horrified gaze. "I sense his presence, not the oppressive weight that falls on you when you first ride into the shadow of Dagra, but his consciousness. He mostly leaves me to my own devices but…but every now and then, when I'm alone with my thoughts, he'll come. He'll say such horrible things, tell me to do things, and when I refuse him, he simply laughs. It's a game to him, you see. These aren't orders he's giving me, no that's different. This is just…playing with me."

Saliman felt bile rise up in his throat, and his licked his lips nervously. "Has he ever ordered you to do something?"

Cadvan nodded his head. "Just now, when I held you back from helping Hem, but it is uncommon. He doesn't want to use my Name to force me, he says I don't truly serve him then. When I fear retribution, when I obey him because I am a_fraid _of him, then he will be satisfied."

"But what is it like?"

"Like someone else controls your body," Cadvan said quickly. "I can see my limbs move, hear my mouth form words, but it's like watching someone else. And it always leaves this _sensation_ when he's gone. There's a blackness in me now that I can't push out."

"I never thought it would come to this," Saliman admitted, shaking his head. "I mean, I thought there would be a war, but I thought I would die in battle, not live to be a slave of Sharma."

"As did I," Cadvan said softly. "All my life, I struggled against the Dark, and here I am, a servant to its most cruel master. I suppose it's ironic, in my case, that I spent so much time proving myself a servant of the Light and now I am poised to be one of the Nameless One's lieutenants."

"Has he made any mention of where his armies will go next?" When Cadvan shrugged, Saliman worried his lip. "The southern Schools are all but destroyed. He'll set his eye on the north, I think. Innail, Lirigon, Ettinor, Desor…What of Busk, do you think?"

Honestly, Cadvan had given little thought to Busk and Nerili since leaving Thorold, but now, with the Nameless One returned to power, he thought that it would be high on his list of priorities. Afterall, Thorold had stood against the armies of the Nameless One during the Great Silence, and he would not be so foolish as to ignore them again. Cadvan shifted uncomfortably thinking of Nerili. They had parted on better terms than they had greeted, but now he wondered what would become of her. And the Light forbid…

_The Nameless One knows she was your lover once. He saw all those memories with keen interest. If he captures Neri and brings her here who knows what he might do with her just to torment you._

"I think he won't overlook them this time," said Cadvan after a moment. "Though it's possible the island will stand. They withheld his might last time, and they are a proud people who would die for their island."

"And Innail?" Saliman was thinking of Hekibel who had ridden there on his command.

"I will tell you truthfully, Saliman, that I have little hope for the School. When we left, they were in shambles after the battle with the Landrost. I do not think they will be able to rally a second defense."

"Perhaps the refugees will go to Lirigon," Saliman mused. "It's far enough north that when the army reaches it, the people may escape into the mountains."

Cadvan shrugged, but the thought of his home being laid to waste by the army of the Dark turned his stomach. "I'm sure Silvia and Malgorn will see to Hekibel. She is not a Bard or warrior and will be sent with the others fleeing war."

"I wish all the same I could see her to safety," Saliman whispered. She was so brave in the face of the Dark that it sometimes scared him: if she was too careless, she'd get hurt. "I could not dream of abandoning Hem, but I wish I could have taken better care of her."

"She's not here, and that is as great a gift as you could give her," Cadvan said firmly. "The Nameless One has only interest in Bards and Schools right now. She'll go unnoticed by the Dark for a while yet."

"Unless he sees her in my mind," Saliman rejoined miserably. "We were never _intimate_ but she used to make my heart happy. I do not think we spoke of love, but I could see something in her eyes when she looked at me. Will he see that?"

Cadvan thought of his own behavior to Maerad. They had never been intimate, and he was fairly sure Maerad never looked at him with anything more their friendly glances, but he had known. "I do not know what he searches for or what he sees. He saw me for what I was, but perhaps I wore my heart too openly on my sleeve."

"I think, Cadvan that no one in their right mind would accuse you of wearing your heart on your sleeve," said Saliman wryly.

The two Bards sat in silence for a while, each considering their current position. Saliman took a pear from the bowl before them and chewed it contemplatively still disturbed by Cadvan's description. After a time, he suggested that Cadvan sleep, as the other Bard looked to be on the verge of passing out. Cadvan checked on Maerad and Hem once more then curled up on the couch. Alone, Saliman considered his situation.

There seemed like no escape. He could not sneak out of Dagra if he wanted, and he had no desire to abandon Hem here. If Sharma planned to use him like Cadvan, he would have to give up his Name and his memories. And if he gave up his memories, he would also reveal the depth of his feelings for Hekibel. But the question remained, what would Sharma do with that information? He had needed Maerad and Cadvan to love each other so he could manipulate them into her service, but he didn't need Hekibel.

And then, there was the secret part of Saliman he had not made mention of to Cadvan. The Nameless One had a special hatred for Bards of the south, and his words lingered in Saliman's mind, making his skin crawl. What special torments had the Nameless One planned?

He sat thinking about this as the sun outside sunk below the horizon and the moon rose. He checked periodically on Hem and Maerad. Hem's face had stopped bleeding, but Saliman thought he might have a thin scar on his cheek. He brushed the back of his hand along the scar and Hem murmured something faintly in his sleep. While he sat in the chair by the fire, he would often study Cadvan's sleeping profile. As the sun rose, the nervousness that had been growing throughout the night reached an unbearable apex. He knew Sharma would call for him soon.

Saliman shook Cadvan awake gently. "I will have to go soon. Maerad and Hem are still asleep, but you should check on them again soon."

Cadvan sat up, his hair standing all on end. "What do you mean, you will go soon?"

"Sharma," he whispered.

They didn't wait long. Two Hulls arrived at the doors and summoned Saliman to join them. With a crooked smile at Cadvan, he rose up and followed them out of the room. This time, they didn't go to the throne room, but instead led Saliman down to an empty courtyard. It had long since fallen into disrepair, the walls were crumbling and grown over with weeds, the cobbled flagstone had craters in it, and in the center of the courtyard stood a dry fountain with rust colored stains that reminded Saliman of blood. He saw the lone figure of Sharma standing quite still at the far end, staring up at the blood red sun. His hands were clenched behind his back and as Saliman approached him he saw with a sort of distracted terror the many rings that glinted on his fingers.

"Greetings again, Saliman of Nowhere," said Sharma and Saliman could hear the smile in his voice. "I trust you have recovered yourself since our last meeting?"

Saliman said nothing for a long time, considering Sharma's profile. When he did speak, his voice was heavy with sarcasm. "I have enjoyed the pleasures of your palace."

Sharma turned to face him and Saliman was again struck by how handsome he was. His dark beard and hair were clipped now, his skin smooth and glowing, and in his brown eyes, Saliman saw flecks of gold. No wonder this man had fooled the Bards of Afinil. He cracked his fingers and the sound of snapping joints echoed around the courtyard.

"And did you speak to Cadvan of Lirigon regarding his…fealty to me?" His eyes were dancing and Saliman fought down an urge to strike him for laughing at his friend. "Did he explain to you how he came to be in my _service_?"

"In exchange for his Name you spared Maerad some terrible cruelties." Saliman couldn't bear to look into his mirthful, beautiful face any longer and returned his gaze to the shambles around him.

Sharma waved his hand irritably. "Cadvan is melodramatic. I offered him what he desired, nothing more, nothing less. And I can do the same for you."

Saliman narrowed his eyes. "I _doubt _this is what he desired."

"He wanted the woman," Sharma said, staring coldly at Saliman. "He can say whatever pretty words he wants about protecting her and sparing her torment, but I saw the truth in his heart, and it is dark as mine. Now, she is his forever, and consequently, he is mine forever. I think it's a fair trade, what you might call and _good get_?"

"Have you only brought me here to assuage your guilt?" Saliman demanded.

"I have no guilt." Sharma stretched luxuriously, admiring the dry, dusty planes before him. "I brought you here because in your secret heart you desire something, and I would seek to give it to you in exchange for your loyalty."

"Since when has Sharma, the Great Liar and Betrayer, been so generous?" Saliman asked icily.

Sharma smiled toothily, only minorly annoyed at the Bard's stubborn use of his name. "Do not mistake my offer for generosity. There is a price for the thing you want, and it is unwavering service to me, and I will not lie, I am a demanding master."

"You will have my Name?"

"I will have more than your Name," Sharma said sharply. "You have proven particularly annoying to me in the past year. Running away with Cai, challenging my armies at Turbansk, serving the _Light _like a good little Bard…you have aggravated me to no end."

"Then why have me as a servant?"

Sharma chuckled. "Because then I could punish you."

"I did not think servitude was a prerequisite for torture," Saliman said dryly.

"You do not understand the nuances of torment. Oh yes, I could have my Hulls take you to the dungeons and visit upon you unspeakable tortures that would drive you mad from the pain, but that's not what I want. I don't want you driven mad by pain. I want you weighed down by your own insurmountable guilt, I want you to see the Darkness in _yourself_ and acknowledge that the idea of the Light is nonsense. You will realize I was not wrong in taking the Song for my own, just as you will have to admit that you were not wrong in serving me because I gave you what you wanted. I want _all Bards _to see the Darkness in themselves, and none more than those whose service to the Light was greatest."

"So that is it?" cried Saliman furiously. "You wish to prove that we are all like you? Selfish, covetous hungry beasts that take what they want without thought for the Balance?"

Sharma laughed heartily, rocking back on his heels with his hands on his hips. "I ought to put you in jester's clothes. Your outrage is laughable." He shook his head and straightened up. "Say it how you will, but I will take those like you who serve the Light most dearly, and I will tear you down. It's so easy to fall."

Saliman turned away. "I would rather be sent to your dungeons."

"I can't allow that," said Sharma. "You are Saliman once of Turbansk. The Bards of Annar and the seven kingdoms know you too well. They must see you in service to _me, _they must be made to know you forsook the Light for _me_. I am afraid, whether you wish it or not, you will be giving me your Name."

"You will have to rip it from my mind."

"I will," said Sharma matter-of-factly. "As I said, you gave me no end of trouble in the past and I have every intention of causing you the utmost pain that I can. And, of course, as a Bard of Turbansk, it seems it is your heritage to irritate me. I don't deny that I will have to be hard with you at first, and you might resent me as your new master, but I think in time you will come to understand the new order."

Saliman felt a shiver race down his spine. "I won't be a good servant to you."

"Time will reveal that." Sharma turned about to face him full on. "So, tell me, Saliman, since I'll know soon enough anyway, what is it you desire? What is it I will be giving you in exchange for your allegiance?"

"Your death," Saliman said darkly. "Curse you, Sharma, and the Light take you!"

"Is there a woman?" he guessed, ignoring Saliman's outburst. "Or perhaps a man?" He studied Saliman's blank face closely, sensing he was close to the mark. "Or is it the boy? I must admit, Saliman, that shocks me as he is so young. An uncommon taste for a Bard, to be sure."

"You are disgusting," Saliman hissed, repulsed by the idea.

"It matters not that you tell me now. I will know soon." He stepped closer and Saliman felt he knees lock, his legs losing feeling. "You are weak, Saliman. The White Sickness burned through your body and though Cai cast it out, the remnants of the poison remain. You haven't the strength to oppose me now."

Saliman knew this was true. Sharma would need little to pull down his mental walls, especially given that he had the strength of the Song. His legs gave out beneath him and Saliman landed heavily on the cold cobblestones. Sharma's hand was suddenly in his hair, snapping his head back so his face was turned up and his throat was bared. With a surprisingly gently gesture, Sharma stroked Saliman's cheek with the back of his other hand. He looked into those dark eyes flecked with gold and saw with horror a look of such hunger, such overwhelming desire, that he turned away.

"Relax, Saliman of Nowhere, and perhaps I'll be gentle."


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

Snow swirled in the air, drifting down from a midnight sky. Thin, grey, smooth trees stretched up from the accumulated snow. There was no moon. There was no sound, it was almost like the snow had muffled the vibrations of the very stood in a circle of trees staring up at the sky, searching for the moon. She wasn't cold, she wasn't in pain, she wasn't _anything_. Slowly, she looked down at her legs and noted the dark blue gown with little interest. She glanced around the forest, but outside the ring of her trees, she could see nothing.

_Have I died? _she wondered, but for some reason the idea didn't really bother her.

_No, my child, but nor are you alive._

Maerad turned slowly, looking for the source of the voice. It was familiar but she wasn't sure why. _What happened to me?_

Movement in the corner of her eye. A hulking white shape prowling on the edge of the trees. _You are unmade. The very sinew of your being has been undone. _

Maerad frowned. _Why?_

She saw a pair of yellow eyes staring at her. _Think, child. What do you remember?_

_ Nothing…just darkness._ Maerad blinked and felt a sharp pain somewhere in her chest. _Darkness and music. It was horrible music, like the instruments were tuned wrong, the voices couldn't sing. Was it…was it me?_

A long silence met this question before a sleek wolf emerged from beyond the ring of light. It prowled forward, snout raised and yellow eyes flashing, and stopped just as soon as it passed the ring of trees. _You are the Singer, _the wolf said, and her voice was sad. _The Song lived in you-_

_And when I tried to make it, it could not bear to be made,_ Maerad finished with a gasp of realization. Suddenly, the memories came rushing back, the Nameless One forcing her and Hem to make the Song though she had been so sure something was missing. She remembered feeling unbearable pain. _But it was made, it was forced together and the Nameless One has it! _

The wolf, who could only have been Ardina, sat back on her haunches. _Perhaps it has him._

Maerad bowed her head. _Something was missing, something was wrong, wasn't it? Hem and I both felt it, but the Nameless One still forced us to sing._

_ He did, and soon, he will feel the enormity of what he did_, the wolf said softly. _The Song is still not truly alive, but it yearns for life, no? You felt its hunger._

_ It almost tore me apart_, Maerad said, thinking back to her burning throat and her bleeding hands. _Or did it? _

_ The Song lives in you, Maerad, _the wolf said. _Only in you could it have been made whole. It desired you._

These were strange words, but Maerad knew not what to say. _Please, believe me, I had no choice. He had Cadvan-_

_ The mortal?_ Ardina's ears pressed forward. _I warned you what would come of loving him. _

Maerad bowed her head and she felt tears pricking at her eyes. _What could I have done? Betray my heart? Bards are told again and again of the Ways of the Heart, and when I chose to obey mine, it was wrong?_

_ I did not say that, _said Ardina gently. _I warned you what would come of loving. Not just Cadvan of Lirigon, but at all. But nor does that mean that it was wrong. It is only wrong when you love poorly, remember that. _

_ I do not love Cadvan poorly. _Maerad looked up fiercely, but the wolf merely stared back, considering her. _I will not abandon him to the Nameless One._

_ No, I do not think you will, _said Ardina, and for some reason, Maerad thought her voice had lightened considerably. _But you cannot help him from here._

_ Where I am? _Maerad asked, looking around.

_I cannot tell you. Edilhu are creatures of place. This is your place. _Ardina didn't turn away from her, but she seemed to hum with energy. _I do not recognize this place, but perhaps in time you will. _

Maerad was quite sure she had never been to this place, but she didn't know how that would help her escape it now. _If I have been unmade, then I must make myself again? _

Ardina shook her ruff, stretching as she did so. _Perhaps you can simply follow the path back to who you are?_

Maerad was about to ask what path, but snapped her mouth shut. She knew already. _I can follow Cadvan back, but…but, Ardina, I'm afraid of what I'll find._

Ardina yawned, showed her fangs. _You have a right to fear, my child, for you go back to Sharma, and as the glory of the Song wears off and the reality of its torment returns, he will seek his vengeance. _

Maerad pressed her lips together. _I can't stay here…_

_ You can but doing so will only prolong the inevitable. You will have to return, only you can free the Song. _Ardina gave a low whine. _I understand your fear, but where is the wolf who escaped Arkan?_

Maerad watched the wolf. _Once I go back, you will not follow me, will you? _

_ I cannot bear the Song, _the wolf said simply. _For now, it persists in Sharma, destructive, hungry, corrosive._

_ I will miss you,_ Maerad admitted, studying her face closely. _The thought of going back into that Darkness-_

_ You will not be alone._ _It may be long and it may be hard, but you will not be alone in the Dark. _Maerad didn't like the sound of being in Dagra a _long _time and wondered if Ardina had seen the future or if it was merely a turn of phrase. _You must make Light in your Darkness._

It seemed an impossible task, but Maerad didn't say that. _Is there any hope? _she asked earnestly.

The wolf's ears perked up. _There's always hope, child, but perhaps you despair because the Darkness around you seems so complete? Remember, then, that the Song does not belong to Sharma, and the more he uses its power, the more the power uses him. He betrays nature with it, it is wrong._

Those were not the words Maerad expected to hear, but for some reason, they lifted her spirits. _I will try to make this right._

_ I know you will, _Ardina said, and the certainty in her voice alone was enough encouragement for Maerad to smile faintly. The wolf stood again, her ears swiveling. _You must leave me now. _

Maerad jerked in the direction Ardina was looking. _Elednor…_

_ Cadvan. _She would have recognized the voice anywhere. He seemed to be calling urgently from far away, but Maerad had no difficulty understanding him.

_This is where we say goodbye, child. If you wish to return, follow his voice. He will not lead you astray,_ Ardina said, turning slowly to return to the dark woods around her.

_I'll see you again, _Maerad said firmly. Ardina looked back, said nothing, but tipped her head. The wolf faded into the dark and Maerad hung back a moment, relishing the peaceful silence, admiring the falling snow. She knew she had to go back, but the memory of what waited for her kept her feet firmly planted to the ground. Sharma was there, more powerful than ever, poised now on the brink of victory. She thought of the horrors she would face upon her return, Sharma's vindictiveness and cruelty, and Ardina's warning she would be there a long while.

_Elednor_.

_Cadvan,_ she thought longingly. She remembered her last glimpse of him watching her striking the strings on her lyre. His face has been set in a look of dread and wonder, and she wished she could touch his face and let him know he shouldn't be afraid. _I won't leave you there._

Maerad looked around the trees once more. No matter how she strained her memory she didn't remember this place. _Her place_. But it recalled a haunting familiarity. She sighed, closed her eyes, and sank down into herself, seeking out Cadvan's call.

_Elednor_.

When Maerad opened her eyes, she was staring up into Cadvan's white face. His dark blue eyes were searching her face and she could see the strain in every line of his body. She could feel his hand grasping her firmly, and for the briefest moment she felt truly safe. When Cadvan saw her eyes were open, he drew a sharp breath, a smile flitting across his face. Maerad muttered something to him, he stroked her face, and she fell unconscious at once.

When Maerad awoke next, she was lying in a large bed, covered in blankets with her head rested on a firm pillow. She took a moment to assess herself, wiggling her toes, flexing her fingers, running her tongue over her lips; she seemed wholly present and in one piece. She turned her head and with a surge of relief found that beside her was Hem, curled up in a ball and snoring ever so slightly. She reached out and placed a hand on his cheek; he felt a little too warm, but not so much that she was concerned. He turned his face into her hand and murmured something in his sleep.

Maerad rolled over and saw the grated windows and the bright sky outside. Though she didn't know how long she had been asleep, when she had sung for Sharma it had been dark. Carefully, in case she had been hurt while unconscious, she swung her legs around and set her feet on the floor. The blankets fell away and she stumbled up to her feet; a wave of exhaustion hit her as soon as she was up and Maerad had to lean against the bed. She took a tentative step, her foot caught the blanket wrapped around her, and she fumbled to the floor. She glowered at the blanket tied around her waist.

_A gown, a slip, anything, _she thought, looking around the room and spotting the wardrobe. Carefully, leaning against the bed, Maerad made her way over to the wardrobe, rifled through the contents ignoring the extravagant gowns, tunics and pants, and found a simple cotton shift she could wear. Once divested of the blanket, she wrapped herself in a dark blue dressing gown trimmed in ermine and carefully headed for the door.

The sitting room on the other side was extravagant, but not comfortable like Malgorn and Siliva's home. Standing on the threshold, she felt intimidated by the huge windows whose grates looked more like the bars on a prison, the arching ceiling, and dark floors and the hearth that was casting flickering shadows into the corners of the room. It was silent aside from the crackling of fire, but it wasn't peaceful, and Maerad felt the hairs on her arms and back of her neck stand on end.

She inched into the room, eyes darting around for any sign of life. Her feet were unsteady beneath her and she felt like a new colt as she moved farther into sitting room. Each step was an effort now, and Maerad realized how much the Song had cost her. She had never felt so utterly weak in her entire life, not even after her battle with the wright, with the storm dogs, with the Landrost. She was close enough to the chairs that Maerad took a deep breath and threw herself the rest of the way.

Maerad landed heavily in a large armchair and sank into the cushions. It took her a moment to spot Cadvan, who was curled up asleep under a light blanket. She watched him for a long time, the steady rise and fall of his chest, the gentle, innocent look on his face, the sleep tousled hair. As always, in sleep Cadvan seemed much younger, but never more so than now. Maerad had seen the past weeks gradually degrade his courage and will, and her heart ached for him. Cadvan's past dealing with the Dark had left him with an acute hatred of it, and she knew that he considered his current bondage to Sharma as the utmost betrayal of the Light and himself.

_Perhaps you can sleep a thousand years, sleep until Sharma is gone, _she thought, but that didn't make Maerad feel much better. She couldn't imagine her life without him. Unsettled and excruciatingly exhausted, Maerad reached out for the fruit bowl but missed, knocked it to the ground and fell out of the chair. The muffled thump woke Cadvan.

He jerked awake suddenly reaching for a sword that wasn't there. When he saw Maerad, collapsed on the floor among a pile of fruits, his face softened. "If you were hungry, you only had to ask. I would have brought you something." Cadvan gathered Maerad up and helped her back into her chair. His hand hovered over the fruits, deciding which was best, selected a pear, and handed it to Maerad. She took it gratefully, but in truth, she was so tired she could barely eat.

"You were asleep. You looked so peaceful that I couldn't bring myself to wake you," she said, taking a bite of the pear experimentally. She wouldn't put it past Sharma to poison her.

Cadvan raised an eyebrow ironically. "Were you just going to sit and stare then?"

"You have no idea how different you look when you're asleep." She frowned, trying to find the words to describe his childish face without sounding patronizing. "You don't seem nearly so weary."

"Hm," Cadvan grunted, returning to the couch. He glanced over Maerad. Aside from her shaking hands and delicate movements, she gave no sign of the immense magery she had recently performed, but Cadvan knew better. "I would hazard a guess that no matter how tired I seem, you're tenfold and I'd be doing poor service to you as your mentor if I let you wander around in this state."

Maerad set the pear aside after her third bite. She fixed Cadvan with as firm a look as she could; there didn't seem any better time to discuss what had transpired. "I think at this point, we've exhausted the student, mentor charade, don't you? Sharma saw through it easily enough and it proved our undoing in the end."

Cadvan's face had gone still at her words, though his eyes had almost doubled in size. In a monotone voice he said, "I should have told you sooner, but you were…you had given me reason to think you might not welcome such advances from me, and, regardless of my feelings, I was still your teacher and friend. I had no desire to risk losing you." He watched her face carefully. "I thought I already had after Thorold."

Maerad remembered the void that had formed between them, not long after the trip on the White Owl, and its disastrous consequences. "I should have been honest with you then, but I struggled to put words to my feelings. They were _complicated_, to say the least."

"Can you explain them now?"

Maerad looked up quickly, then stared down at her hands, toying with her nails. "I had a very brutal childhood. The men in Gilman's Cot were vicious and wielded their meager power over the women slaves," she said in clipped tones. When she saw that Cadvan's face had turned pale, she hurriedly added, "I was never raped, though not for lack of trying, but my curses were potent, and the men feared me. But I still _saw_ what happened to the others, and once…once it was a very near thing."

"I don't trust men easily. I hit Dernhil. I suppose Silvia told you that? Well, he-he kissed me the last night we were in Innail and I panicked and I hit him." Maerad laughed hollowly. "I mean, I _knew_ he wasn't anything like those men, but something came over me."

"It's not uncommon," said Cadvan blankly, like he was reciting from a textbook. "In fact, victims of violent crimes after-"

"I'm not a victim. I told you, Gilman's men feared me and my curses," she said sharply. "I just _don't trust men_. And you-you I trusted-but only because I convinced myself you didn't want anything to do with me. Then, that night on the White Owl…" Cadvan remembered his comments vividly. "I know you didn't mean to, perhaps you didn't even know, but you scared me."

Cadvan felt his mouth go dry, cursing himself. "I shouldn't have said what I did."

"No, you had every right to," said Maerad swiftly. "You meant no harm by it, just like Dernhil meant no harm by what he had done. After that, though, I didn't know how to explain what I felt, and you saw what happened." Maerad looked up and saw Cadvan's dark face. She sighed and smiled forlornly, placing a hand on the arm rest of the couch. Cadvan looked up uncertainly. "When we were united in Pellinor-when I found you alive after all that time thinking you were dead-I didn't care what had passed! I didn't examine my feelings too closely, I just knew I didn't want to lose you again. I suppose, if I had been a bit more wise, I would have realized I had…" Her voice trailed off and she suddenly couldn't look at Cadvan anymore. She blushed, but said determinedly, "I don't know what love is, Cadvan, but I made the Song for you. I don't want to be separated from you, I don't want to see Sharma hurt you, I don't want to think you're dead again. If that's love, then I love you."

Cadvan was quiet a long time, digesting her words. He had thought that the intensity of his emotions had scared her, but he hadn't suspected that her fear stemmed from such violent experiences. It was true they had said little to each other over the following month, and Cadvan had begun to feel a growing tension between them. Not the uncomfortable strain he had felt after the White Owl, but a sort of excited nervousness that only grew and grew the longer they left it unsaid. He felt like he and Maerad were circling each other like dancers, drawn to each other, but both unable to say why.

"I wish I had known sooner," said Cadvan after a long time. "I wish there had been time before we were brought here. Maerad, I would have-" Cadvan didn't know how to finish that sentence. What would he have done differently? Dropped everything and taken her away, started a life in Innail? No, they were bound to this quest. "Maerad, I don't know what I would have done differently, but by the Light, I wish it wasn't in the Darkness of Dagra we came to recognize the depth of our feelings for each other. Things would have been different."

"I guess knowing that will have to be enough," said Maerad softly. She bit her lip. "So, what happens next? What does Sharma do with us now that he has the Song?"

Cadvan shook his head hopelessly. "He will make war on the Bards. I think he will send me forth to do his bidding."

Maerad looked horrified. "I told you I won't be separated-"

"It's not my choice, Maerad. I have no desire to leave you, here or otherwise, but he has my Name, and I cannot break his word of command." Cadvan breathed out heavily, and said tiredly "You've nothing to fear while I'm gone; I've already assured your safety."

Maerad laughed. "I'm sure Sharma will find a clever way around that." When she saw the look of abject horror on Cadvan's face, she said quickly, "But I'm sure he won't be keen to try. He'll be too busy with the Bards."

Cadvan ran a shaking hand through his hair. "Maerad I do not like the idea of leaving you here alone. That your brother will be here is comfort, but little at that."

"I'm made of sterner stuff than I look," Maerad said firmly. It seemed to have little effect on Cadvan, however, and Maerad perceived in him a deep sadness. She looked down, reflecting on her own apprehension at being separated from Cadvan, and it occurred to her that he was as scared of leaving her alone with Sharma and she was of leaving him. She carefully levered herself up onto her unsteady feet and covered the short distance to the couch and Cadvan.

Cadvan covered his surprise quickly, making ample room for her, but Maerad sat relatively close. She was completely at a loss for what to do, this was far outside her ken, but she took his hands in hers and held them tight on her lap. "I'm not afraid of him. I mean, he scares me and the cruelties he inflicts on others terrifies me, but I feel as if the worst has happened and I have survived. What more can he do with me now? He took the Song and I lived. Now he must live with what he did."

"What do you mean?"

"I do not think the Song was made right. Something was missing, Cadvan. Not love, for there was plenty of that, I think. But something else was missing and the Song isn't right. Ardina said-"

"Ardina?" Cadvan asked sharply, looking up into her face.

"After I sang, I saw her," said Maerad, and then told him of the strange forest and the conversation with Ardina. She omitted nothing, not even the comments about him and her declaration of loving him. "She said the Song was hungry, that it was corrosive, it still desires life but as long as it resides in Sharma it can't be made whole."

This intrigued Cadvan. "In time, will it kill him?"

"Maybe, but I'm afraid, Cadvan. She said the Song would be made whole in me. What if it destroys me too?" Maerad looked up and searched his face.

Cadvan noticed how suddenly small she seemed. He drew her against him and tucked her head under chin. He could feel every part of her against him and felt, for the first time since entering Dagra, that something was _right_. "These are riddles I cannot answer, but, if my Knowing is worth anything, I do not think the Song will kill you. It needs you, remember?"

Despite his words, Maerad still seemed preoccupied with the Song. Cadvan leaned back a little so he could see Maerad's face and he smiled gently. "Maerad, I don't want you to be afraid, not now that you and I are alive and together."

"It is hard not to be in Dagra," she said dryly, meeting his eyes. She noticed they were very blue, and very bright, and there seemed to be some emotion in them she didn't quite recognize.

Cadvan felt his heart beat arrhythmically, and he became acutely aware that Maerad was finally in his arms. He had thought about it frequently enough and knew what he would do next, planned it so many times he could have done it in his sleep. Slowly, so as to give Maerad all the time she needed to refuse, he bent his head and kissed her. It was a gentle kiss at first, letting her feel the pressure of his lips on hers, his hands on her face, his body against her. He was pleased to find that Maerad didn't pull away from him but leaned in closer, her hands moving up his wrists to his forearms. He deepened the kiss, parting her lips and letting his tongue glide across them, tasting the pear that lingered on her lips. Maerad, who had never been kissed, was surprised at first, but then pressed herself against him. Her hands moved automatically to his shoulders to help hold herself up and Cadvan's arm snaked around her waist, lifting her up so she was almost in his lap.

_Be slow, _he reminded himself though every fiber of his being was begging him to continue. He wanted to pull her onto his lap and fall backward feeling her weight on him before pulling her into a bout of passionate lovemaking._ Do not scare her away. _

He titled her head back just enough to expose her pale throat and placed a kiss just below her chin bone, nipping her a little. Maerad gasped and her fingers on his shoulders tightened. He wasn't sure if he had scared her, but he didn't want to break their embrace so he placed another kiss on her neck, this one gentle. Maerad was looking up at the ceiling of the room, her breath coming in shallow gasps. She could feel Cadvan's surprisingly hot breath on her neck and raised one of her hands up into his hair. He continued down her neck and she felt his lips press against her collarbone, and she instinctively arched had back. He bit her again and she felt her hand in his hair jerk.

"Ow, Maerad," he said against her throat, but didn't stop kissing her. Maerad heard the smile in his voice when he said, "I'm not saying it feels _bad_, just try not to pull my hair out by the roots."

Maerad loosened her grip on Cadvan's hair and sat back a little so she could see his face again. He wore a beguiling smile and his blue eyes were glittering mischievously. Maerad felt a smile tugging at her lips. "It was certainly not my intention, just a reflex."

"Given the few times I've seen you reflexively use your powers, I shall have to be wary of those," said Cadvan seriously. "I don't want to end up a rabbit."

Maerad brushed his messy hair off his face. "You'd make a mangey rabbit."

Cadvan pretended to clutch his heart. "I beg you, mistress, speak only kind words, my heart cannot bear your cruelties."

"Perhaps I'll be kind," she said softly, feeling intensely awkward. She was painfully aware that she had no experience with such conversations. She didn't know what men and women said to each other when they were together, and she wished she could speak to Silvia. Silvia would know what to say.

Cadvan watched Maerad's emotions chase each other across her face and was perceptive enough to see her embarrassment but not comment. "Then I am more fortunate than I could have hoped." He kissed her forehead and then cupped her face in his hands, gauging her reaction. "I think kindness from Maerad of Pellinor will go a long way here."

Maerad felt a warmth spread in her belly at those words, and though she didn't know quite what it meant, she remembered Ardina's words of making her own Light and wondered if this was along those lines. "It's yours," she said earnestly. "My kindness, I mean. Always yours."

Cadvan wondered if Maerad realized the effect her words on him. There had been a time after he had released the Bone Queen when no one had any kindness for him. He remembered being desolate and lonely and so terribly miserable he wanted to die. And here, after he had so prodigiously betrayed the Light, she simply smiled and gave him her love. It was utterly confusing and Cadvan didn't know what to do with it.

He chuckled and Maerad watched him warily. Was he making fun of her? "Oh, Maerad. Ever you surprise me with the depth of your love."

"How do you mean?"

"There are those who would not be so forgiving."

Maerad frowned. "Then they are not worthy of my love." She caught his eye and held his gaze, trying to convey her emotions to him. Cadvan opened his mouth to say something, when a loud thump broke their privacy.

"I don't suppose there's food here, is there?" Hem had emerged from the bedroom, bleary eyed and dazed. He was staring at his foot, which he had knocked into the door, and hadn't noticed the scene he had interrupted. "Or, now that the Song is all over, is Sharma going to starve us to death properly?"

Maerad carefully extricated herself from Cadvan's lap and struggled to get up. "You'll hurt yourself," Cadvan muttered but stood up to help her all the same. She had to lean on him, and Cadvan noticed that she trembled when she stood. He carefully directed her back to the couch. "Sit, I'll help your brother over."

"Hem, you must be the only Bard I've ever met who performs the most complex magery and wakes demanding the midday meal," said Cadvan with a tired smile. "There is fruit, cheese and small meats on the table."

Hem smiled wanly at Cadvan, looking to the table. Though he didn't say it, Hem was sure that if he didn't get food soon, he was going to collapse and not wake up. His head was pounding so hard that the light streaming in through the windows hurt and his body ached like he had been hit everywhere.

_Well, you have been hit everywhere, _he admitted to himself, gingerly touching the swelling bruise on his face, curtesy of Sharma. He found that his bleeding had at least stopped though he definitely needed to wash the dried blood off.

Hem accepted Cadvan's arm and allowed himself to be led to a chair where he promptly began eating slices of cheese. It was savory, better than he expected, and as Hem prepared to take a second slice his hand wavered. He thought of the food laced with drugs that the Hulls were feeding the snouts and he wondered if Sharma was going to do that to them. Maerad, who was watching her brother closely, frowned.

"What is it, Hem? Aren't you hungry?"

"Do you think Sharma would have put poison or-or something in the food?" He stared suspiciously at the slices of cheese.

"There's no use killing us," Cadvan said thoughtfully. "He's already told me he has plans he needs me for. I expect this is just some game for him. He's made a great display of his power, taking his worst enemies and giving them freedom. I think he means to demonstrate how little he fears us now."

Maerad felt a swirling sense of shame at her failure. If she had tried a little harder, if she had refused him…_Then Cadvan and Saliman would be dead-or worse. You have to think objectively now, there's no use wishing for things that could have been._

"Well, he should be afraid," said Hem stoutly, taking another piece of cheese and nibbling it. "That Song wasn't…_right_."

"No," agreed Maerad. "But I don't think he'll notice that for a long while."

Hem blinked at his sister. "Do you think…will we be here a while?" He had tried to say I nonchalantly, but Maerad heard an uncurrent of fear in his voice.

Maerad leaned back in her seat and rubbed her face with her hands. "I doubt he'll let you or I out of his sight."

Hem frowned, obviously disconcerted, and looked out the window where he could see the stretch of Dagra before him. The sand had turned red under the sun and Hem had a vision of the land bleeding. "This place makes me sick. Not just metaphorically, I mean-I mean it actually makes me ill."

Maerad glanced at Cadvan, who searched Hem's face. "Perhaps you need more rest after the Singing?" he asked, not unkindly. "A spell of that sort is sure to-"

"Where's Saliman?" Hem asked sharper than he intended. He had been pleased to see Maerad alive and, as usual, preened in her presence like Irk in his, but he also felt an unspoken barrier between them. He sensed that Maerad and Cadvan shared a private emotional connection and, while he didn't resent her that, he longed for Saliman's company.

Maerad started, searching the shadows of the room. "Wait, where is Saliman?"

Cadvan grimaced, waving vaguely at the doors. "The Hulls took him."

"_What_?" Hem tried, and failed, to get to his feet. "You let the Hulls take his? They could be doing _anything_ to him, and you let them go? After what happened to you?"

"Hem!" Maerad hissed, seeing something incredibly painful pass through Cadvan's eyes.

Cadvan, though, held up a hand to Maerad. "Hem's right, Maerad. If my fate serves as a lesson, it is a dark one indeed, and no doubt the Nameless One has similar intentions for Saliman." He caught Hem's eye, though, and the boy flinched when he saw the bright pain in Cadvan's face. "But, Hem, I couldn't have stopped the Hulls taking Saliman if I'd wanted. I have no weapon and as for my Gift, I think it has-" Cadvan couldn't bear to admit his fears to them just yet "-I think I am still too weak to call on my Gift."

Maerad noticed how Cadvan had edited what he was going to say, and made a mental note to ask him later. "Sharma won't kill him, Hem. He needs him. For you."

Hem looked between the two, confused. They clearly didn't understand the problem. "_Right now_, Saliman may be being tortured by Sharma, and you two are just sitting here. You're not even trying to stop him."

"Help him how?" Maerad asked gently. She thought Hem was being rash, but when she reflected briefly on her arrival in Dagra, remembered how she had at first fought viciously with the Hulls to stay with Cadvan. That initial burst of fear and anger had ebbed, though, and she realized that Dagra wasn't just horrible because of the torture but because of the time between torture: the times when she sat in her cell alone, worrying about Cadvan; when she was chained naked and starving, waiting for her brother; when she had to pretend to be civil to Sharma and all the while he was plotting her destruction. There was a constant sense of fear and dull misery that wore at her incessantly, almost like an ache in her bones.

She gestured Hem over and he took the seat beside her. She wrapped both her arms around her brother and held him tight against her; he still felt warm, like the magery he had just performed linger in his skin. "I know you want to go after Saliman, I know how hard it is to sit and wait for the worst for something to happen to someone you love." Cadvan glanced up at her and she smiled sadly in his direction. "But, right now, there's nothing we can do. We have to wait and we have to be ready."

"Wait for what?" Hem asked uncertainly.

"He'll need you when he's back." Maerad looked over to Cadvan who watching the pair. "If Sharma injures him, someone will have to care for him, watch after him."

"What if he-what if they do something-"

"Don't think like that," Cadvan ordered him firmly. "That fear, that's what the Nameless One wants. He's separated you two so you don't know what happening and you'll imagine the worst. Your fear serves him, push it back."

"But he could do anything to Saliman!" Hem croaked. "He could force him to become a-a Hull or some foul creature."

"I do not think he will," Cadvan said reasonably. "He doesn't need Hulls, and besides, the Nameless One cannot _force _someone to become a Hull. He can't _make _Saliman selfish and covetous of power."

"Then he'll do the same as he did you," Hem said in a carefully blank voice, acutely aware that Cadvan despised his servitude.

"Maybe, but all the more reason you should be here and ready to help him when he returns." Cadvan shrugged helplessly. "I was certainly not _myself _after and Maerad was a great comfort to me in that time."

"I'm scared of what Sharma will do to him. It's my fault Saliman is here."

"_Stop_ thinking like that." Maerad took Hem's chin in her hand and turned his face to stare into her eyes. "We cannot despair. We cannot surrender to fear or shame or guilt."

"Your sister is right, Hem. This Darkness is not our own." Cadvan tried to smile, and though he was sure it looked more like a grimace than anything else, Hem's lips seemed to turn up a little. "Saliman is a great Bard, he will not be so easily cowed."

Hem nodded faintly and though they left the subject, his eyes seemed to rest on the door, willing it to open and admit Saliman. At length, Cadvan took himself to the bathroom to clean off what he called the "filth of this dark place" and Maerad took to mean sweat and blood. Maerad reclined after a while, still holding Hem, and felt herself slipping into sleep as the sun began to sink. In her arms, Hem grappled with his exhaustion, refusing to turn away from the door. She didn't blame him, though, she remembered how desperate she was to stay with Cadvan.

Maerad was just slipping into an uneasy sleep when she heard footsteps in the hall and the laughter of approaching Hulls. She sat upright and reached for her power; she might have been exhausted but she had no desire to face Hulls defenseless. Hem had straightened like a hunting hound on point and was staring hungrily at the door so that, when it was thrown open, he lurched to his feet.

"Hem!" Maerad hissed, struggling up herself, but Hem had already stumbled forward.

"Saliman!" Hem skidded to a halt before one of the Hulls. It smiled toothily at him, like it was considering whether or not to eat him. "What have you done with him?"

"Who? That pesky Turbanskian Bard?" The Hull gnashed its teeth at Hem. "Nothing he won't recover from, I assure you." When Hem continued to stare accusatorily, the Hull gestured its fellow forward, dragging Saliman by the scruff of his tunic.

Saliman's face was drenched in sweat and his braids hung limply around his shoulders. His eyes, when he looked up at Hem, were hollowed and bright like he was still suffering from his fever. The Hull holding him Saliman gave him a hard shake, jerking the Bard back and forth like a rag doll, before tossing him with unnecessary force into the room. Saliman didn't even try to stay upright, and instead tumbled forward, landing heavily on his hands and knees. Hem dropped down and wrapped his arms about Saliman's shoulders. He could feel him shaking.

"Barely a day. Poor sport," spat the first Hull. "At least the Bard from Lirigon put up a fight."

Hem took Saliman's face in his hands, searching his eyes and felt for his temperature. He was deathly cold and his eyes seemed hazy and unfocused. Hem snarled at the Hulls. "Get out of here and take your blackness with you!"

"Look here, a Bardling who gives demands," cackled the first Hull. "They always think themselves lords, don't they? Right up until our master breaks their pathetic little souls and shatters their mind. Your friend from the south was just like that, now he is nothing."

"I said, go!" Hem ordered and slammed a hand down on the floor. To everyone's surprise, the doors swung open wider and banged off the walls.

The Hull stared at Hem suspiciously. "Playing with fire isn't safe, boy, you'll want to be more careful with that magic of yours."

"Get out before I set this fire loose on you," Hem snapped.

Maerad had come up behind him, glaring at the first Hull. She recognized it as the one who had forced her to strip. "You ought to listen to my brother. He is no fool."

The Hulls grinned at her, flicking its gaze lazily over her body, admiring the feminine curves. "Shouldn't you be attending to your lord like a good girl?"

"Sharma will call if he wants my attendance," she said thickly.

"I wasn't speaking about our master, but the Bard from Lirigon." Hem bared his teeth in a snarl at the Hull's dismissal of his sister. "Now that you've sung your little song your presence is no longer required among the lords of this land. Frankly, I'm surprised to see you out of the bedroom."

Maerad had the grace to flush at that, but she kept her gaze steady. "I am a Bard and a daughter of the First Circle. I am not _some woman_."

"These woman Bards have got it into their head that they can have their own leads," the Hull said to the one behind him. "And we see where it gets them. How many First Bards were women, and how many failed into their duties to their people? You, Maerad of Pellinor, should know this better than anyone. Was it not your mother, Milana of Pellinor, who oversaw the destruction of your home?"

Maerad felt her hands clench into fists. "The Dark did that, not my mother."

"Perhaps if a man had been First Bard, it would not have been so," mused the Hull. "This age of foolishness, of letting women rule, it comes to an end. It is time you all return to your rightful places."

"This is my place," Maerad said evenly, feeling energy crackle under her skin.

"Your _place_," the Hull said with relish, "is in that bedroom on your back."

"You dare-" Hem cried.

"Silence, boy. You ought to be ashamed, letting your sister speak like this." The Hulls eyes moved back to Maerad, "She dishonors your family, and it already had such little honor to begin with."

Before either Maerad or Hem could think of a response, the door to the bathroom opened and Cadvan emerged. He saw the scene before him with mild interest, and took his time crossing the room. He smiled at the Hull but his eyes were dark with anger.

"Finally, Cadvan," the Hull said, exasperated. "Send your woman away. I've not come to gossip with hens."

"No, I see that," said Cadvan, placing a hand on Maerad's shoulder and moving her back protectively behind him. "You've come to return Saliman, and now that your job is done, you can run back to your master like a lap dog and await his next order."

"_Our _master," the Hull whispered, but its eyes flashed at Cadvan's taunt. "You forget yourself."

"I could be so lucky," Cadvan muttered. "If you've nothing more to say here than taunts and name calling, you can go. Last I checked, this room is mine and I decide who is permitted and who is not."

"For now," the Hull amended. "For now, you have the favor of our master, but all it takes is one mistake and this place, and these people, are at my disposal." Its eyes flicked to Maerad's face. "And, if I'm being honest, I think I could stand a bit more time with your companion. Perhaps a more thorough inspection of her charms is called for."

"Get out." This time, Cadvan's voice was rigid with cold fury, like he'd lost his temper.

The Hull made an ironic bow before it left. "Until next time."

With the Hulls gone, Cadvan helped Hem support Saliman to the couch where he lay shaking. Hem wrapped him in blanket and gave him a little water, which is took weakly. He said nothing and stared up at the ceiling blankly. Hem looked to Cadvan.

"Is this normal?" he asked, frightened of the answer.

Cadvan thought of his own three days of torment and then wave of exhaustion and apathy that had come over him. He pitied his friend all the more when he thought of what came next. "Yes, Hem, I'm afraid so."


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

The wine turned a rosy shade as Nerili poured water into her cup, trying to dilute it and save herself a headache in the morning. She swirled the glass, watching the water and wine mingle unagreeably. She guessed it would taste foul. Still, it was better than the alternative because for the last week, since she had collapsed and been subjected to that terrible vision, Nerili could not sleep without nightmares.

At first, she had just visited scene after scene of a terrible battle. She vaguely recognized cities and Schools. She saw the great white towers of the Schools crumbling into fires that blazed through the streets. She saw men and women and children running shrieking from men on horseback, chasing after them with swords and maces. There were children sobbing in the dirt over the corpses of their parents. And everywhere she turned, signs of the Dark: Hulls stalking in shadows, dog soldiers running down people and tearing them apart, children chasing other children down and slaughtering them, piles of bodies and Bards cowering before a malevolent shadow, their faces stretched in horror.

That was the first two nights. Nerili had woken with a scream, drenched in sweat and clutching at her throat like she was unable to breathe. She had scrambled to the nearest window and thrown it open, desperate for fresh air. As the sea breeze rolled in, lifting the hair off her neck, she felt the weight on her throat and shoulders lift and she could crawl back into bed and sleep. Unfortunately, she had fitful sleep, and woke each day exhausted as if she had just hiked up the Lamedon to see her grandfather.

On the third night, she took center stage of her nightmares. She would be performing some routine task in the School when alarm bells would ring from the harbor. Whatever task she was performing, Nerili would stop and hurry to the School gates, but before she could leave the Singing Hall, the doors would slam and throw her back by the force of wind billowing through them. She landed on her back, and in the distance the alarm bells began a frantic tempo that wouldn't stop ringing.

She sat up, clutching her head tightly but when she opened her eyes to stand, she saw a shadow on the wall of the Singing Hall. It was the form of a towering cloaked figure and it stretched at up and up like it had been cast from a great distance. The shadow moved smoothly along the wall and Nerili turned to see who made it, but there was no one there. Just a shadow, alone. Still, it slunk across the hall, moving towards the doors now shut tight. In the distance she heard the bells crying.

"What do you want?" and Nerili was horrified to find that in her dream, her voice was small and high like a child's. The shadow didn't stop moving, now almost in front of her. "I said, what do you want?"

It floated toward the front of the hall, past her and into the shadows that now completely covered the doors. Nerili stared hard at were the cloaked form had vanished, trying to penetrate the darkness that formed a wall before the doors, but she could see nothing. Instead, the longer she looked, it seemed as if the darkness were expanding, but not out into the room, inward, as if a roiling mass of shadows were pressing in on itself, trying to form something. She leaned forward, certain there was a figure there.

Suddenly, the bells stopped tolling, the screams vanished, the world was silent. Then-

_Bam_! Something slammed into Nerili from behind and she slid forward, rolling over herself toward the darkness. She slapped her hands against the smooth stone of the floor, grasping for purchase, and they made an awful screeching sound as she slid. She came to a stop before the roiling shadows. She was gasping for breath.

"Don't fight it," said a voice above her. "Just let it in."

Nerili new that whatever was speaking, whatever stood directly above her was too horrible to look at. She stared at the swirling blackness, willing the thing to go away. But she felt its presence: a malevolent, unbearable will that pressed on her mind. She tried to force it back, but it seemed that the White Fire inside her was useless against the relentless cold of the thing above her. She felt very small.

"Let me in," the voice whispered harshly.

"Go away." She drew a shuddering breath. "Creature of the Dark, I order you to go."

"There's nowhere to go."

Hands were on her ankles, long boney hands with claws at the end. The fingers drummed on her calves and the tips of the claws poked little holes into her flesh. The hands slid up her legs and Nerili felt the weight of the thing on her but wouldn't look at it. She watched the darkness swirl and wondered when the nightmare would end. The hands pushed up her dress, curled around her hips, and jerked her forward so her legs straddled something.

"Let me in, let me see you," said the voice, but still she wouldn't look. The hands were on her face now, feeling out the delicate bones of her chin and cheeks. When Nerili refused to look, the hands snapped her face up. "Show me yourself."

It was terrible face. Pale and wide, with eyes a muddy yellow and a mouth so wide it stretched over its face. When it smiled its thin lips tore back and its teeth were revealed and they were long and crooked and sharp. It pressed its thumbs against her cheeks.

"Let me in!" it rasped and Nerili screamed.

She would wake then, sitting upright in her bed, shaking and holding herself tightly. She would try to rise, to get to the doors that opened onto the veranda and the sea breeze, but she would simply collapse to her knees sobbing, unable to walk, unable to speak for the horror she had seen. The first night of the nightmare, Nerili curled into a ball and cried on the floor. She felt as if her body had been invaded, as if the thing had reached inside her and spread poison through her blood. She remembered its hands on her hips, claws digging into her flesh, and she trembled. She felt like a child again.

Since then, Nerili had been drinking strong wine every night before bed. It dulled her senses and she slept dreamlessly, but she was waking up with headaches in the morning. Nerili considered discreetly going to a healer and asking after some sort of tea that might help ease the nightmares, but some reason she couldn't name, she was embarrassed by them. It wasn't the fact she was having nightmares, but the content that seemed most disturbing.

_The Dark wants to be let in, _she thought grimly, staring out the window where she had only two weeks prior seen her city burning. _It wants me. _She felt like she had been violated and it shamed her.

She took a sip of the wine and sank into a chair at her desk. She examined the stacks of books and papers piled up with a frown. She hadn't been as productive lately, in part because of the dreams and wine, but also the vision of Busk burning and the creeping sense of the Dark. She tried during the brightest, warmest hours of the day to sit at her desk and read through notes carefully, but she found her mind slipping away. Nowhere in particular, just away from work, and she would come to in the early evenings, a sudden realization that she had gotten nothing done.

_This isn't right, something isn't right. _Nerili curled her hand tighter on the stem of her wine glass. _Nothing has been right since Midsummer Festival. Perhaps it _is_ me, perhaps I am not meant to be First Bard. I couldn't make the Mirror, I can't work now…_

Nerili felt a terrible sadness well up in her and rested her face in a trembling hand. _It's me. _

She sat a long time before her desk, too miserable to cry, just covering her face. It was like something kept clouding her mind, something kept turning off the synapses that should have been firing, blocking the pathways. She wanted to get help, she wanted to speak to a healer, but over and over again, the voice in her head mocked her.

_You're supposed to be the First Bard. You can't even concentrate on a task at hand? What will they think when you tell them? What will the School say when the word spreads that Nerili, First Bard of Busk, is too weak to even concentrate on running the School? _

She cringed and drank her wine. All she wanted was sleep, sweet, forgiving sleep.

* * *

Hem wrung the water out of a cloth and into a bowl and dabbed at Saliman's forehead. The older Bard drew a deep breath and turned into the cloth, and Hem pushed some of his stray braids out of his face. He studied the Bard closely, the deep sleep-breathing, the lines of tension on his face, the exhaustion in his shoulders; he was very different from the bold, cheerful, wise Bard Hem had met in Norloch.

_You're not very well, are you, my friend? _Hem asked. Saliman groaned in his sleep. _But, you will be. I'm going to heal you, just like before, and we'll be just like before, too. _

Hem had been preparing for this healing since Saliman had been returned but had been waiting for the right opportunity. Maerad had been exhaustingly watchful of him since the Singing: constantly checking his forehead, ordering him to bed, following his every move with sharp eyes. Hem suspected she inherited this behavior from Cadvan, who was so attentive of Maerad, he barely let her lift a book without rushing to her side. Hem supposed it was meant with good intention, but he wasn't a child and he had a Gift that could help Saliman.

Saliman hadn't stirred much since his battle with Sharma, and though Cadvan had explained to him as gently as he could that Saliman was grievously injured and needed peace and quiet to recover, Hem wouldn't leave the Bard alone. Hem was sure that with proper preparation and effort, he could fix whatever had been broken in him, so he had waited. Cadvan had been summoned by Sharma a few days later, and it seemed he was to bring Maerad with him, as the Hulls ordered them both make themselves presentable. As unsettling as it was to watch the Hulls lead his defenseless sister away, Hem was grateful for the reprieve.

As soon as they had gone, Hem had eaten a little more, stiffened his resolve and prepared for the healing. He knelt now beside Saliman. "Arundulan," he said softly, brushing the hair back. "Arundulan." He took one more moment to relax his mind and focus his energy on the task at hand, then reached out his mind for Saliman's consciousness.

Hem felt an odd numbness at first and it was like trying to push through sand. He pressed forward, feeling for the familiar consciousness, but the numbness persisted unnervingly, and Hem began to worry that Saliman had sank so deeply inside himself to escape Sharma that Hem wouldn't be able to reach him.

Desperately, he cried out, _Arundulan! _

The effect was instantaneous and overwhelming. As if the use of his True Name was like brandishing a weapon at him, Saliman's consciousness cried out in agony and retreated into itself. Hem chased after him, but the numbness he had been wading through before had turned to fire. It felt as if Saliman's mind was one aching injury, a burning tenderness that accompanied an open wound. Hem realized he couldn't soothe such an injury even if he wanted.

_Arundulan, please! _Hem tried again, and Hem forced his consciousness forward, sending out tendrils of his own thoughts and person, hoping Saliman might recognize him. Saliman didn't. Wherever he was, he had withdrawn so completely that Hem feared he would not be able to find him.

Hem pulled back, came back to himself, and found his hands shaking and cold sweat on his forehead. The damage was far more extensive than he thought. Saliman's mind was torn asunder and something had left long claw like tears in his being. Hem's shaking hand found a glass of wine that he drained quickly while he steadied his resolve. It was far worse than he thought, but that didn't Hem was going to leave Saliman in such torment. This time, he thought he might try a different tactic, a roundabout approach. Hem sank back into himself, steeled his nerve against the numbness and pushed on until he had reached that place in Saliman's mind that was left in tatters.

_Riik, _he called, _It's Riik! Please, Saliman, I've come to help you. I've come to make you better. Saliman, please, I've been alone in Dagra for days. I can't bear this place-not alone-let me help you._

A protracted silence met this call and Hem struggled against the pressure that now bore down on him. It felt malevolent, a cruel will that sifted coldly through declarations of love and friendship with clawed hands. It perceived Hem and reached out and its nearness repulsed Hem so much he almost retreated from Saliman's mind.

_Get out! _he snarled at the thing. _You're not wanted here. Leave him alone! _

The consciousness was intrigued by Hem now, and he felt its focus shift from Saliman to him entirely. As if it released him, Hem sensed a new presence, and knew that Saliman was pushing forward through his pain to meet Hem. It was a relief to feel that presence again, a relief to know Saliman wasn't destroyed.

_I said, begone! _Hem ordered angrily, and his anger transformed into a fire, white and pure, but wilder than Bard fire. It had some Edilhu magic to it, and it was that power that burned away the malice in Saliman's mind. Hem waited then to see if the thing would return, but it didn't, and as the Darkness passed, Hem could feel Saliman now, and though he was still clearly in pain, he was there.

_Hem, what are you doing here?_

Hem could have cried at the sound of Saliman's voice. _I'm healing you, just like before. I'm not going to let you be driven mad by his scrying. I won't let him destroy you like Enkir did my mother._

_You can't heal me, Hem. These hurts go too deep. Besides, he has…_Saliman's voice failed him and Hem sensed something akin to shame. _He has my Name now, Hem. There is no escape._

_ Maybe no escape, but you don't need to spend the rest of your life like this. _Hem gently prodded different parts of Saliman's consciousness and felt the ends of raw nerves, the aching of an injury still fresh. _I'm going to heal whatever Sharma did to you, I'll put the pieces back together again. _

_ Don't speak his name! _Saliman hissed. Hem felt a stab of pity when he realized that Cadvan, too, always called him the Nameless One, and Sharma must have forced them to abandon his use name in exchange of the honorific. _Not even you, who is the most Gifted healer I've met, can fix what is broken in me now. _Saliman's voice was hoarse, like he hadn't just yelled in the waking world, but like even in his mind had had been screaming. _Just let it pass. I'll wake in my time._

_ No, _Hem said firmly. _I'm not going to leave you to suffer this._

_ Hem, please-_

_ I said, no, _Hem growled, and Saliman's consciousness fell back.

Hem began the arduous process of examining Saliman's injuries. Though he refused to admit it, Saliman was correct: Hem couldn't fix what Sharma had broken. It felt like Sharma had rent his mind in pieces, and tattered ends were flapping the breeze. Hem did his best to cauterize those ends, direct healing heat and energy to the gaping wounds, but for each one he healed, there were five more.

After a time, Hem began to sense a wound unlike the others: pulsating at the center of all the injuries. It was like a black hole whose intensity was a product of its completeness. The other wounds were haphazard and carelessly cruel, but this injury seemed to be the point around which all the wounds turned, this seemed to be the reason why no matter how many injuries Hem healed, there were more. They came from this wound

Hem finally shifted through as many of the minor injuries as possible and was thinking he might try and at least inspect the black hole, when Saliman's voice brushed against him. _Hem don't, please, the pain is still too near._

_ What happened? _Hem heard the untampered anguish in Saliman's voice and withdrew from the injury. _If I can't heal this, I don't think I'll be able to fix anything else. It all stems from here…_

_ I told you, you couldn't fix this. _Saliman sounded tired.

_But what happened? _Hem couldn't help himself, he pushed forward a little bit.

He didn't just hear Saliman scream, he felt it in himself. He felt his blood boiling and skin peeling back off his breaking the bones. Hem wasn't sure he could survive the pain and he recoiled. When it passed, Hem finally understood the lengths to which Sharma had gone to destroy Saliman's will. He hated him for is complete and consuming will to destroy a person thoroughly. He hated him because it was Saliman he had done this to.

_I can't heal this, _Hem said hopelessly, _I'm sorry, Saliman, I can't._

_ No one can, Hem. _Saliman pulled away and Hem felt Saliman's shame and anger and hopelessness at what had been done to him. _I will always be like this now. _

_ What is that, though? _Hem was too fearful of the pain to try and explore the injury any further but was curious as to what exactly Sharma had done. _I don't understand how you can be any use to him if-if you're like this._

_ It's hard to explain, but Cadvan was right…there is an open wound that never heals. A door through which the Nameless One can always enter._

Hem's lip curled in disgust. Sharma hadn't so much left a door as batter down the walls that surrounded Saliman's mind and left him nursing a tender, aching wound. He would live the rest of his life in pain because of Sharma's callous disregard for his consciousness.

_Hem, you need to go. You can't heal this…It just takes time._ Saliman was pushing him away, but the Bard was too weak to force Hem out of his mind.

_I won't go unless you come back. I'm not leaving you like this_. Perhaps Hem couldn't heal that worst of the injuries, but he had attended many and stitched Saliman's mind back together as best he could. _Please, I fear the longer you remain in this state, the harder it will be to come back. You could be trapped like this indefinitely._

_ I'm tired, Hem, _Saliman said empathetically.

_I know, but you need to come with me. You can't stay here._ Hem paused, waiting to hear Saliman's response but the Bard didn't answer. _Please, Saliman, it worries me to leave you like this and…and I miss you. _

He felt Saliman's acquiescence before the Bard said it: a minute shift in attention, a focus on the waking world instead of his own prison. _You'll have to call me back, Hem. But carefully! My Name…it aggravates the wound. _

Hem felt himself retreating back to the waking world and his own body. Occasionally, he would say Saliman's Name, and he felt like he was leaving a trail of breadcrumbs for the older Bard to follow. It was a slow process: Saliman seemed to be almost repulsed by his own Name, like it was the cause of his injury, and he followed Hem's calls warily. Hem felt his own strength draining rapidly and was anxious to be back to himself. When he finally opened his eyes and saw the fire spitting in the corner of the sitting room, he heaved a sigh of relief.

"I suppose I'm not dead." Saliman's voice made Hem jump. The older Bard was shifting carefully on the couch, touching his face and flexing his feet and hands. After a moment, he rested his head back on the pillow and stared up at the ceiling. "Not that I long for death but…but my dreams have been very Dark of late."

Hem, though exhausted to his very bones, threw himself at Saliman and enveloped the Bard in a hug. Be buried his face in Saliman's chest so is voice was muffled. "I'm glad you're not dead. I would have been sick in my heart and soul if you had died."

Saliman felt the warm weight of Hem's body on his chest and wasn't sure that he didn't want to cry. While he had lain in that stupor of pain and fear, his only memories were of the Nameless One, forcing him to his knees while he perused his memories, leaving a trail of Darkness behind him. Hearing Hem, seeing Hem, feeling Hem was the first time in what felt like a lifetime he was glad. He pressed Hem against him.

"You prove yourself a healer of great quality, Hem," Saliman said. "I feel better, or, at least less awful. It would take a master to do the work you just did."

Hem sat back and searched Saliman's face. He was grey with exhaustion and his eyes were dull, but when he smiled, there was true happiness there. "Few healers have the reason for healing I do."

Saliman levered himself up on his arms and tried to sit up. Hem helped him to lean against the cushions but refused to let him stand up. He poured a glass of water and tipped it gently down Saliman's throat. "Am I to receive your undivided care?"

"Yes," said Hem as sternly as he could. "I've been learning about overbearing care for the last few days. Maerad won't leave me alone and Cadvan doesn't let her out of his sight. It's only fair you enjoy a bit of unrelenting attention."

Saliman looked around vaguely. "Where are Cadvan and Maerad?"

Hem's smile fell and he looked darkly over his shoulder. "They've gone to attend Sharma. He would not say what he wanted, only that they were both to come. I've taken their absence as an opportunity to heal you, I suspect Maerad will be furious when she returns."

"That you almost killed yourself trying to heal my mind? Yes, I think furious is putting it lightly." Saliman drank the water faster than he thought, and Hem refilled the glass to offer him more. "How long have I been like this?"

"You were gone a day," Hem said desolately. He remembered his anger and desperation when he learned Maerad and Cadvan had just let him go. "But then asleep for almost three."

"Three days seems hardly enough to recover from an attack by the Nameless One himself." Saliman stretched and his muscles screamed in protest. "Though I suppose there's no telling how long it will take me to regain my old vigor."

"I'll care for you till then," Hem said indifferently. His attention had already moved from Saliman's face to his body. With alarm, he noticed how Saliman's feet twitched distractedly, like he was in great pain and trying to ignore it. Hem reached out and carefully laid a hand on Saliman's leg; he could feel the muscles taut as wire under his hand. "But you need to tell me if you're in pain," he added meaningfully.

Saliman grinned guiltily. "Then I would keep you up all hours of the night. How about you get me something to eat? Something small, though. It'll be distracting."

Hem suspected Saliman was lying, but he needed to eat regardless. Hem began to pick through the plate of fruits and cheese and meat that seemed to constantly be filled. He sifted through till he found berries small enough to eat in one bite and handed them to Saliman. It was as Saliman reached for them and his shirt sleeve pulled up that Hem saw the ugly mark burned into Saliman's wrist. Hem hissed like he'd been stung and Saliman, seeing where his eyes were, jerked his arm back. But the damage was done.

"What is this? Who did this?" Hem snarled, taking a firm grip on Saliman's arm and pulling in back into the light of the fire.

"The Nameless One," said Saliman evenly. The memory of the branding came back to him vividly, he remembered the Nameless One pressing something cold against his wrist, then his hand beginning glow, and finally the burning sensation and the smell of roasting flesh. He had tried to twist his arm free but the Nameless One's grip was like a vice and he laughed maniacally while Saliman squirmed and gasped on his knees.

Hem's eyes flashed. "Why? Why did he mark you with this?"

Up till then, Saliman had pointedly not been looking at the mark on his wrist. Now, he forced himself to examine the brand up close. It was the Sick Moon, the image that Hulls had imprinted on rings and wore to signify their rank. The shape of the moon completely covered his inner wrist and had sunk into his arm, angry and red at the center, black with dried blood along the edges. Saliman thought it looked like it had been carved into his skin, not just burned, as if the Nameless One had taken the tip of a needle and etched the Sick Moon into his flesh. The skin around it was blistering and cracked, and Saliman suspected he'd need to wash it every day to stay an infection. Any movement of his hand sent searing pain along his arm.

"He said that all slaves must bear the mark of their master," Saliman said with a curled lip. "And I was fortunate to be given the Sick Moon, it is to be an honor among the Bards. Only a select few will bear this mark: First Bards, perhaps those like Cadvan in whom he has a unique interest. I am lucky." Saliman said this last thing as an ironic smiled twisted his face.

Hem continued to stare at the mark. "You are like Cadvan then?"

Saliman breathed angrily through his nose. "I have been named First Bard of the fallen people of Turbansk. He says when the wars are over and the Bards of our city have been brought here, I will serve as his liaison. I suspect all First Bards will be brought to the same service."

For a moment, Hem didn't know what to say. Of all the all the Bards of the First Circle, Saliman was by far the most deserving of the position of First Bard but being named as such by Sharma was a cruel joke. Hem's eyes moved to the brand on his wrist, discomforted.

"You said a select few Bards like Cadvan?" he asked. "Does that mean Maerad as well?"

Saliman fixed him with a sad, steady look. "Did you say that Maerad and Cadvan had been summoned by the Nameless One?"

* * *

Sharma was deep in conversation with a Hull, the same Hull who had undressed her, when Maerad and Cadvan arrived in his throne room. The Hull was pointing to a map that was spread across the table before them, and Maerad noticed that there seemed to be lines marked in red spreading out across the map like veins. She felt her heart stop when she saw one of the red lines leading to Innail, and her longing for Silvia resurfaced anew. She tried to peer closer at the map, perhaps to see if there was any reason to the order but all she saw were number written in a small, precise hand beside each city. Innail the number 800 written beside it.

"Eight-hundred what?" she asked Cadvan curiously. He too was eyeing the map unfavorably.

"It varies by city, but only by cities with Schools." He paused, his eyes resting on the city of Lirigon. "I think it is the number of Bards in each School. Those are the most dangerous combatants to his army now and will need accounting."

"Eight-hundred Bards? Surely there aren't that many Hulls?" Maerad whispered. "Perhaps the Schools can-"

"You forget that there is some sorcery Bards will not perform that Hulls will. It will give the Hulls a competitive edge. Besides, there are plenty of foul things the Nameless One will employ to help him in his campaign."

Maerad cringed, thinking of her vision of Turbansk and the dog soldiers searching for prisoners. "Sharma must be sure of his victory if he discusses his war plans before us."

"I think that is his point," Cadvan said grimly.

At that point, Sharma chuckled at something the Hull said and leaned back in his seat. He spotted Maerad and Cadvan standing to the side of the room and smiled toothily. "Speaking of Bards, it's my little Andomian and Berludh. Greetings."

Made felt rather than heard Cadvan growl: it made his whole body vibrate with irritation. "If you're too busy, we will happily return to our room," said Cadvan coldly.

"Not at all. In fact, Ignalt and I were just discussing our plans for moving ahead with the invasion of northern Annar. Your input will be useful." Sharma waved them forward to join him at the table. The Hull-Ignalt- greeted Maerad with his usual inspection of her figure. She lifted her chin high but still remained close to Cadvan's side.

"I don't think I will be much help to you," Cadvan said stiffly, glancing at the map. He knew he could not lie to the Nameless One if he demanded an answer, but Cadvan was loathe to give information away about his home.

"Don't or won't? Loyalty always, Cadvan. Remember that. I've given you everything you wanted," he said, his eyes dancing as he gestured in Maerad's direction, "and I can just as easily take it away. I don't suppose you would want that?"

Cadvan leveled him with a furious look, but the Nameless One continued to smile. "I mean only that I have spent much of my life traveling, never long in any School, and so will have little knowledge of the risk they pose your armies."

"Ah, but your experiences traveling are exactly what I want. You have seen so many Schools, have knowledge of so many different places." The Nameless One's eyes bored into Cadvan. "I need to know who is First Bard and who sits on the First Circle of all the Schools."

This clearly wasn't what Cadvan had been expecting because Maerad saw his mouth open just a little before he recovered himself and frowned. Beside the Nameless One, Ignalt was watching him with amusement. "Did you think we had a care for the School defenses? Our army will destroy their walls and towers and pretty little schoolhouses, but the Bards themselves, they will need to be dealt with. If the First Bards fall, the School goes with them."

Cadvan swallowed and Maerad realized with a start that Cadvan knew many First Bards. _Malgorn, Nerili, Gahal, Vaclal, and Nelac might as well be a First Bard with Enkir gone to the Dark. _Maerad could see the strain in Cadvan's face, his desire to protect those he loved at odds with his oath to the Nameless One. _The same oath that keeps me from torment and torture in his dungeons._

"You would be hard put to stop a First Bard," Cadvan warned him. "They are both powerful and wise."

"So were you, as I recall," said the Nameless One dryly. "But, fear not, Cadvan, I have enlisted one my most gifted Hulls to deal with the affairs of First Bards. He is experienced in the matter of handling such powerful mages. He will not fail me, as you will see. I plan to send you and your Turbanskian friend to him soon. I trust you'll be respectful of him.

Cadvan bristled at. "It sounds as though you have little need of me."

"Don't underrate yourself, Cadvan, it doesn't become you. You think I let you live like a prince in my tower for no reason? I told you I had plans for you, and now that the Song is mine, the pieces have begun to move."

Cadvan looked at the map, the jagged, red paths of war and the Schools. "You will meet the resistance of the Bards of all Annar and seven kingdoms. Even with you army, the Schools will not bow."

"You forget, Cadvan, that I understand how Bards think and feel. Not even a thousand years of darkness could make me forget the teaching of the Bards at Afinil." When Cadvan merely stared at him skeptically, The Nameless One raised an eyebrow. "You doubt me? If my knowledge of your people is so poor, how did I know that your love of Maerad and her of you would be sufficient to get me the Song and your Name?"

"You think the Bards' love of you will convince them to surrender?" asked Maerad dryly.

Sharma turned his usual furious look on Maerad, the one reserved only for her. "Idiot girl, I will turn the Bards' love against them. Just like you and your lover, just like your brother and Saliman, I will force the Bards to see the true shape of their souls. Just like I warned you, when the time comes to choose between what is just and what is right they will be hard put to make a decision. They will contend with the consequences of their actions, and see that they are small, mean-minded creatures, not the glorious, righteous and noble people they thought they were. And I and my armies will laugh at them."

Maerad leaned a little closer to Cadvan for support. "Still, you have not said exactly how our love will be used against us."

"Because I will give them all a choice: surrender, and I will spare the humans that live in the towns and cities around the School. Refuse, and I will slaughter them all and still take the Bards as my own. How will those Bards choose between saving the innocent and saving themselves, I wonder?"

Cadvan hissed like he had been scalded. "That is a foul trick of the Dark. Bards were charged with the keeping of the Light, the keeping of the balance, and protecting the innocent."

"Indeed you were," agreed the Nameless One, "and now a reckoning is upon you and yours. Will you abandon the common people when the Dark threatens, or will you sacrifice yourselves to torment in my shadow? For I will not let the Bards die, Cadvan. I will keep them alive, here in Dagra. They will be my slaves, and they will spend their very long lives toiling away in misery under my all-seeing eyes." The Nameless One leaned forward, his eyes sparkling with delight. "You were made to choose, and you gave up everything for love, do you think the Bards will too? Are you the rule, or the exception to it?"

"I have never been a normal Bard," Cadvan said hesitantly.

"How the mighty have fallen," murmured the Nameless One. "How the Light has turned Dark in your heart. I look forward to seeing the Bards now. I wish very much I could march at the head of my army and watch while the Schools fall, but, alas, I have business here that cannot go unattended."

"You are afraid, you mean," Maerad said darkly.

"Careful with your taunts, Maerad, especially with me," Sharma said softly. "I have little patience for you now, and that veil of protection Cadvan bought you is thin indeed. One wrong step on his behalf and I shall have my revenge against the little girl who tried to kill me. But, perhaps you forget how delicately you balance on the edge of the blade?" His eyes moved to Cadvan with interest. "I warned you, didn't I Cadvan, that she had to be taken in hand? I told you to beat her."

"I told you I would decide what to teach her," Cadvan said thickly.

Sharma looked to Ignalt, who was leaning forward like a hunting hound, sensing his master's growing anger. "They're both impertinent," he said sharply. "They both need a lesson in respect."

"I agree," said the Nameless ONe, his eyes darting between the two. He stood and Maerad and Cadvan were reminded again of how large he was. Cadvan yearned for his sword again though he knew it was utterly pointless to raise a blade against such a creature. "So let us have it, shall we?"

Cadvan felt something cold grasp the back of his head and force it down so his eyes were averted. He saw the dark leather boots of the Nameless One appear before him and the hair on his arms stood on end. "I already serve you, there is no lesson you could give me I could disobey."

"Obedience is a virtue that you and your lover seem not to understand, but I will make you see it." At his side, Maerad cried out and he knew that Ignalt had dragged her away. She was snarling and spitting like a cat and Cadvan felt the briefest blaze of pride in her refusal to be cowed. She would not whither before the Dark.

The Nameless One took Cadvan's arm and held it out, and carefully rolled up Cadvan's sleeve. Cadvan felt his stomach turn with each brush of the Nameless One's fingers on his flesh, and nervousness twisted his insides like a vice. He didn't know what the Nameless One planned to do, but the exposure of his flesh to the Nameless One's thoughtful gaze left him feeling vulnerable. It was fundamentally wrong for anything to evoke such a professional interest in the Nameless One.

In an exaggerated display, the Nameless One arched his finger high into the air and brought it down to a point on Cadvan inner right write. "Here." He looked into Cadvan's eyes, searching them for fear but there was none. "You are fortunate, indeed, Cadvan, to have my mark. Few will be given the honor."

"And if I don't want your mark?"

"Cadvan, as a _loyal_ servant in my court, you want all the things I want," he said, mock serious. His fingers curled around Cadvan's wrist and he squeezed tightly. "Trust me, you'll want this mark. It will mean much in the near future, it will mean your freedom."

"Somehow I doubt that," Cadvan said shortly.

"You know, Cadvan, your words cut me deep." The Nameless One said this somberly, but his eyes continued to glow. "It hurts my heart to have my trust and my faith challenged by one I thought was my subject."

"You have no heart," Cadvan whispered.

The Nameless One's face dropped and left behind a very ugly expression. "As you'll have it." He reached around his neck and tugged a medallion free of his rich shirt. It flashed like the edge of a knife in the light of the torches and Cadvan's eyes widened when he recognized the Sick Moon. The Nameless inhaled slowly, enjoying the sensation of Cadvan's fear, tasting his apprehension, and removed the medallion so is swung in slow arches on the end of a long chain. Cadvan's eyes followed its progress.

"If you mark me with that every Bard I meet will know I serve you. I'll hardly be a useful spy." The thought alone of bearing the Sick Moon disgusted Cadvan. "It would entirely defeat the purpose of having me as a _loyal_ subject."

The Nameless One place the medallion of Cadvan's wrist. It was cold to the touch despite being worn against the Nameless One's chest. "You think you will be a spy in my army? That I will send you out to commit secret atrocities. Have I not told you already that my army does not need you fighting in it? But you, you will need this mark if you hope ever to leave this tower again." Before Cadvan could protest, the Nameless One pressed the medallion into his wrist, and, after a brief moment, began to heat it in his palm.

Cadvan gasped as the medallion grew hotter and hotter. He tried to tug his arm away, but the grip of the Nameless One was unbreakable. He could smell burning flesh and hair, feel the contours of the medallion sinking into his skin. Smoke rose from the gaps between the Nameless One's fingers.

"Stop!" cried Maerad when she saw how white Cadvan's face had gone. "Stop it, please!"

"Ah, she is a good woman, isn't she?" asked the Nameless One in Cadvan's ear, still pressing the medallion into his arm. "You won't beg me to stop, but she will on your behalf. How good of her to plead for you."

Cadvan was sure the medallion was going to burn into his very bone, it had been there so long. He gave a cry and felt his knees give out. He pitched forward and found, to his horror, that he was leaned against The Nameless One's leg. The Nameless One reached out with his free hand and grasped Cadvan's shoulder to offer his support. Maerad, who was watching, was reminded of a father supporting his son, but the image was marred by the medallion searing away Cadvan's skin. Finally, the Nameless One lifted his hand, and, freed from his grasp, Cadvan threw himself away from him. He rolled onto his side and curled up in a ball, clutching his wrist to himself.

"You will be grateful one day, Cadvan, for the mark I gave you." The Nameless One watched him. He had a sudden desire to do it again, to press the medallion into Cadvan's flesh over and over again, mark his body so he never forgot who he served. The Nameless One could imagine it, how much pain, how many screams, the inevitable tears; the raw emotion would be as satisfying as a meal. He felt his hand clench on the medallion.

_Why not? Why not teach this ungrateful Bard a lesson in respect? _His desire to hurt Cadvan felt like an insatiable hunger, as desperate longing for something. He watched Cadvan roll onto his back, still holding onto his wrist, and saw his chest rise and fall in great breaths. _No, not Cadvan. I need him…_

But he couldn't master the hunger. The Nameless One turned like a snake, his eyes landing on Maerad. _But the girl, the stupid Pellinor bitch who tried to destroy me! _He flew across the room, snatching Maerad's wrist and dragging her out of Ignalt's arms. Maerad cried but he slammed her against the table so hard she thought her body might snap. Across the room, Cadvan managed to get his knees beneath him and looked up to see the Nameless One holding Maerad down.

"Leave her be!" he cried hoarsely.

_Make her hurt_. The Nameless One clawed at the front of her gown while Maerad tried to slap his hands away. _Burn her flesh, feed on her screams._

"The Light take you, Sharma!" Maerad screeched.

His hand snapped back and struck her across the face. "Don't you dare use my name! I am your master, your lord. Perhaps this will remind you."

"Stop!" Cadvan gasped.

Sharma pressed the medallion into the flesh on Maerad's left breast. The heat was instantaneous; her back arched off the table and her fists pounded on the top. She could smell her skin burning. Sharma bore down on her, crushing her against the table, and he knew if he wanted, he could rip the gown off her body and continue the work. He could cover her in his mark.

"I did what you asked! You swore not to hurt her!" It was Cadvan. He didn't bother trying to pull the Nameless One off Maerad, he knew that was far beyond him. He was standing now, holding his arm out so his branded wrist stared at the Nameless One and Ignalt. "I gave my oath and took your mark, now release her."

"You are _so lucky_ Cadvan is infatuated with you." Sharma removed the medallion, admiring the Sick Moon, bright red against the pale flesh of her breast. He leaned closer so his lips brushed her ear and his body rested against her. "Tell me, Maerad, what little whore's tricks did you use to ensnare that Bard? I wouldn't put it past the daughter of woman who went to bed with a Pilanel."

Maerad flinched at the mention of her mother. "They were in love," she said through her teeth. "Something you will never know, _Sharma_."

Sharma straightened up, stepping aside so Cadvan could see Maerad lying on the table. Her gown front was torn to her navel and the Sick Moon shown on her chest. Maerad wrapped her arms delicately about herself, trying to cover her nudity without aggravating the brand. Sharma tossed Maerad in Cadvan's direction. He caught her up before she hit the ground and turned her to face him. He could feel the heat of her brand radiating off her chest.

"They were in love and now they're dead, there's a lesson in that if you care to notice." His eyes moved from Maerad, shaking in Cadvan's arms, to Cadvan himself, who looked like he might be sick. The Nameless One said to Ignalt and said, "Saliman is awake. Get him and the boy and bring them here. It's time we make plans for Annar, and I want my two Bards here for it."

Maerad's forehead was pressed against Cadvan's chest. He placed his palm on the small of her back and rubbed gently. "Be strong, Maerad. I'm here, and I won't leave you."

_It won't be your choice, _Maerad thought, but she cherished his sentiment all the same.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

Silvia watched Hekibel surreptitiously from the door. She was seated in the inner garden, shelling peas and occasionally feeding one to Irc who watched her movements with intense concentration. She looked charmingly domestic: her rich blond hair was tied up in a bun, the simple work gown she wore was covered in flour from the kitchen and water from the fresh peas, and her hands moved mechanically like she'd shelled peas a thousand times before. At one point, Irc hopped forward and snapped his beak at her, and though Hekibel didn't possess the Speech, she smiled faintly like she understood him and held out a pea temptingly. While he ate it, she smoothed the feathers on his head and neck and cooed at him.

_Of course, Saliman loved this woman and of course he'd send her to us for safety. And now she has to leave._

Silvia hadn't been looking forward to this conversation, but since the meeting of the First Circle and the decision to evacuate the city, she knew she'd have to. She brushed the creases from her skirt and entered the garden. Irc chirped in greeting as she approached the table. Hekibel turned about and tipped her head but didn't smile. Silvia wondered if the other woman would smile again.

"You've made good progress toward our dinner," said Silvia, gesturing to the peas.

Hekibel nodded her head disinterestedly. "I intend to earn my keep. You and Malgorn have been generous."

Slivia took a seat opposite Hekibel at the table. "In Innail, everyone is cared for, and friends of ours, doubly so."

Hekibel stared at Silvia a long moment during which Irc snapped up peas with abandon. "But my time in Innail is coming to an end, no? You've come to tell me that I must leave the city before the army of the Dark arrives. The rumors have spread beyond the School, people are packing up their homes, preparing to flee to Lirigon."

Silvia was not surprised to find Hekibel well informed of the position of the School and city. "The Black army will come from south and there is no doubt it will arrive in Innail. People need to leave the city as soon as possible, and the next safest place is Lirigon."

Hekibel digested these words silently. "Will you not fight?"

"Of course we will, but-" Siliva found it hard to admit that there was little hope for Innail "-but a city under siege is no place for a woman like you."

"You don't think you'll win, do you?" Hekibel asked with unnerving directness. "You think the city will fall so you're sending away as many of us as you can." She thought of Saliman, throwing himself between her and the Hulls that attacked them; he and Hem had sacrificed themselves so that she might get away and now the Bards of Innail would do it too. "But is Lirigon any safer? Surely if Innail falls then it's next?"

"It very well may," said Silvia a little sadly. "We plan to send aid to the School along with our refugees. It is our hope that the School can last a while."

"But you don't expect them to win, do you? You don't expect any of you to win. The Nameless One will take Annar." Hekibel bowed her head. "You sent out riders to look for Saliman and Hem, did they find them?"

Silvia turned away. The riders had returned just the other day with no news. Though it wasn't a guarantee that they had been taken to Den Raven, it seemed unlikely they had escaped. "There is no word."

Hekibel nodded her head and Irc, who looked between the two women closely, gave a forlorn caw. Hekibel scratched his throat. "What does it mean if they are prisoners to the Nameless One?"

"I do not know," Silvia admitted bitterly. "Maerad, Hem's sister, is the one around whom all this turns. If she has been taken, if Hem has too, it is possible the Nameless One will regain his power. If that happens, there will be no hope."

"And there's no word of her either?" She laughed hollowly. "What are the chances of a young girl against Black Bards?"

"She is not alone. She travels with a friend of ours, a great Bard called Cadvan. He will protect her," said Silvia. "If she is free, there is hope."

"A Bard greater than Saliman?" Hekibel asked sharply.

"A great Bard," was all Silvia said. She didn't want to think of Cadvan being bested by Hulls. "If they can stop the Nameless One, then his armies will be undone. It is my hope that they will stop him before his army reaches Lirigon."

"What if I want to stay and help in the fight?"

"Hekibel." Silvia reached out and cupped her face in her hands. She saw the other woman's eyes were bright with tears and her lips were pressed together to hold back a sob. "A battle with the Dark is no place for you."

"Then where is my place?" she cried passionately. Irc hopped back, beating his wings angrily and shrieking at Silvia for making his friend cry. "I thought my place was with Saliman and Hem, but they sent me away to you. I want to fight, I want to avenge everything I've lost! But you tell me to go?"

"You have to understand," Silvia said gently. "This city does not stand much a chance against the Black Army. We will fight to the last to defend it, but none of us hope to survive."

Hekibel eyed Silvia from under her hair. Though she hadn't known her long, Hekibel doubted whether this woman was a warrior; from what little she had seen of Bards, she doubted any of them were. "So, where do I go next? Is there another Bardhouse I'll be shafted on or am I to fend for myself?"

Silvia smiled sadly. "I've sent word to a friend in Lirigon, Selmana. She knows Malgorn and Cadvan and will give you a place to stay."

"How soon must I leave?" Hekibel asked blankly. It didn't seem worth her while to argue.

"There is time yet," Silvia said thoughtfully. "We think it will take a month for the Black Army to reach us. You need not rush away now, but I think in the next few weeks you must make plans to leave."

Hekibel sighed heavily and rested both her elbows on the table. She placed her face in her hands. "Will my life ever be normal again?" she asked distractedly. "Will I never not be running?"

"Have hope, Hekibel. This darkness does not consume all, it is not the end. Even in the Great Silence they say there was Light. And if this army does march across Annar and seven kingdoms and cover all this land in a darkness as great as before, there will still be Light in the hearts and souls of the people we love. It is not hopeless."

"I thought when this was over that perhaps Saliman and I-"

"Think not of it," said Silvia quickly. "Do not shed your tears yet, Saliman may be alive."

"How can you know?" Hekibel asked in a hard voice. "How can you know if he is alive or dead when all the world seems to be falling apart?"

"What does your heart tell you?" asked Silvia keenly.

Hekibel bowed her head. "I don't know," she whispered.

"Then take the time, find a quiet place, and listen." Silvia looked around the garden. It was empty except for the two women and the bird. "Think of him, for I'm sure he thinks of you."

* * *

"Innail prepares for battle. They have begun sending the citizens of the Fesse north to Lirigon."

Maerad looked to the Hulls around her feeling disoriented, and their words slipped by her without making an impression. It was the strangest council she had ever been a part of, though that was perhaps going a bit too far, as Maerad wasn't really _part _of the council. She was a witness to it, a captive audience. She was allowed no input, present, it seemed, to amuse Sharma and his Hulls. The secrets spoken here would never leave with her.

"They must have little hope if they are evacuating," said Ignalt with interest. "But why to Lirigon?"

"It is the closest city with a School," said another Hull. "They must think Lirigon can defend itself better than Innail. Perhaps the School has fortifications Innail does not?"

Sharma looked from the Hull to the four Bards arranged before him. They knelt in the center of the room, surrounded on all sides by the Hulls, listening with grim faces. He noted with pleasure that Cadvan seemed especially grim. "Cadvan, you are of Lirigon and are more than familiar with Innail. Is this true? Does Lirigon possess some defense that gives them strength against my army?"

Maerad saw the muscles work in Cadvan jaw. "Not that I'm aware."

"And of Innail's defenses? What state were they in when you and Maerad left? Could they withstand my forces?"

"I don't know the details of your army," Cadvan said evasively. "I wouldn't know how to answer that question."

Ignalt narrowed his gaze. "What a skilled liar."

"Indeed," agreed the Nameless One, eyeing Cadvan with a measure of dislike. "I don't like this avoiding of my questions. I think it is done with malintent. Cadvan, who do you serve?"

"You," he said, and the word seemed ripped from his throat. Maerad was sure Sharma had forced him to say it.

"I am your master?"

"Yes," Cadvan said shortly. Around them, the Hulls were hissing with laughter at their master's savvy. Cadvan of Lirigon was known among the Hulls, a perpetual thorn in the side of the Dark, and to see him brought so low was infinitely amusing.

"Say it," the Nameless One said softly. "Who am I?"

This time, Cadvan's eyes were on fire, a look Maerad had seen very few times in her travels with him and signaled total fury. She knew he was trying to fight the will of the Nameless One, but that was surely a losing battle, and, after a few seconds of tense silence, Cadvan said, "You are my master."

"Right," the Nameless One said with a bright smile, laying his palms flat on the arm rests of his chair. "And, as you master, I am asking you to tell me if Innail's defenses are in a state that might prove a challenge to my army. So, Cadvan, my subject, answer me."

"Innail's defenses were destroyed by the Landrost. They will not be ready for an attack from your army."

"Cadvan, what did we just agree on?" asked the Nameless One smoothly, inspecting the nails on his right hand with exaggerated attention. The Hull's cackles rose.

"Master," he said in a stiff voice.

"Excellent, now put it together." The Nameless One looked up and brought his hands together as he spoke.

Cadvan took a deep breath. "Innail's defenses were destroyed by the Landrost. They will not be ready for an attack from your army, _master_."

"See here," laughed the Nameless One, looking around at his Hulls. "You can teach an old dog new tricks."

Cadvan turned his face away, humiliated. Maerad reached out a tentative tendril of consciousness and brushed against his. He flinched, used to the constant presence of the Nameless One, but when he recognized Maerad's aurora, he relaxed. She saw him glance at her, catch his eye and though he didn't smile, she felt something in him relax a little.

"So," continued the Nameless One. "Innail is in no condition to battle and Lirigon has no special defense against us. How do we move? I thought to strike at Innail at once, bury that city in ashes and corpses, but it seems the corpses are moving to Lirigon."

"We could use Innail as an outpost to conquer Lirigon," offered a Hull. "The School would fall quickly and we could conscript the Bards to build our spells for us. Their magery could be useful."

Cadvan glanced up sharply. He remembered ages ago when the Hull, Likud, forced him and all the other Bards in Pellinor to summon the Bone Queen. The metallic taste of sorcery and the shame and humiliation that accompanied the sensation of his own helplessness would not leave him, though it had been almost fifty years. Surely, if Innail were to fall, the Hulls would use the First Circle to work their spells, as they were the strongest Bards. That meant Malgorn, Silvia and Indik would be in immediate danger.

"It is not their magery I want just yet," the Nameless One said thoughtfully. "And more the point, if they are evacuating Innail, think you not it might be a trap? Consider Turbansk."

"Turbansk was defeated," the Hull said.

"But at a great cost to our army," the Nameless One rejoined. "I have come to learn that our victory was not what we thought it was. Tell the council, Saliman, what your treacherous people did."

It was Saliman's turn to grapple furiously and silently with the will of the Nameless One. But, like Cadvan, he was in no condition to challenge his might. "You invaded our city, but we toppled it down on you. We emptied the city and destroyed much of your army, master."

"Indeed, you did," the Nameless One agreed, his eyes dark with vengeance. "We took the city but it cost us in manpower, and we won few Bards in the deal." The Nameless One rose from his seat and began to walk the room slowly, trailing his hand along the table where the Hulls sat. Though his gaze wasn't on the Bards in the center of the room, they felt his power like a weight on their backs, and the four of them found their heads bowed under the pressure. "I think we can do better than a pile of rubble and bodies. This is to be my greatest triumph, my ultimate rise to power and the inevitable fall of the descendants of the Dhyllin. I want the history of my campaign to be remembered for eternity as a horror to be so complete that men fear to write it."

He stood now before the four Bards and knelt slowly so he was on level with them. His beautiful face looked up into theirs and they recoiled from the look of hunger in his eyes. "I want a trail of bodies that runs the length of Annar as a testament to my power. I don't want the corpses hidden from sight, I don't want to conquer an empty city. We can do so much better than that."

"What do you want, my lord?" asked Ignalt.

"I want a history written in the blood of Bards." He eyes didn't move from the four before him, and they all felt a wave of hatred that rocked them backwards. "Innail sends its refugees to Lirigon? Fine. We will march on Lirigon first."

At her side, Maerad saw Cadvan's face whiten. "We will tear the city down and drag the Bards out of it. As for the people, the humans that live in Lirigon." He paused and inspected Cadvan once more. "They won't all be killed, but I want a good many of them skinned alive and their bodies displayed at the head of our army as we make for Innail. Let it be a warning to the humans of Innail that the Bards aren't worth protecting. In fact, I think it's best if we lead our procession that way at all times. We need no flags to announce our arrival. This will serve us better."

Saliman and Cadvan both looked like they'd be ill; Hem who had seen such violence the last time he was in Dagra, and Maerad, who had simply gown up expecting the worst, paled. "You won't convince the common folk to abandon the Bards if you go about flaying them alive," Saliman pointed out in a soft voice.

The Nameless One's eyes shifted to the Bard. Saliman looked significantly weaker, a shadow of his former self, since the Nameless One had forced his mind._ Arundulan_, he hissed and felt Saliman's consciousness retreat. _You will not speak unless spoken to. You are a guest in the council, not a participant. _"They will surrender the Bards when they see the torment I could visit upon them."

"There are plenty of bodies, my lord, we could keep such a procession going for months," a Hull said thoughtfully.

"No, I want all the people to be from Lirigon," the Nameless One ordered. "I won't have the city responsible for the birth and training of Cadvan go unpunished."

Cadvan looked up, his expression equal parts fury and fear. "You have me! Punish me if that is your will, not the innocent people of my city."

"This is about more than just you, Cadvan. This is about setting a precedent. There are Bards who have affronted my honor, Bards who have worked to see me destroyed, and those Bards must be punished so completely and decisively, that they stand as evidence of my malice. They will be a lesson to all Bards: this is what happens when you challenge the Dark.

"You, Cadvan, are one of these Bards. So, I will destroy everything you love. I will raze the city of your birth to rubble. I will burn the School where you came into manhood. I will take the people of your home and make them pay for your crimes, and they will know it. They will be made to understand that you stood against me, and as punishment for your impudence, they will pay.

"And before you wail about how unfair this all is. Remember that Saliman and Maerad and Cai already paid the same price. Turbansk is gone, Pellinor obliterated. Nothing but ash and ruins are left of those Schools. Lirigon will join them, and when the history of this world is written, your names will be there, for it was you four who brought about the ruin of your own people."

Maerad, who was still in contact with Cadvan felt an insurmountable grief well up inside him. She had the urge to comfort him, but she didn't know how when they were surrounded by Hulls.

Cadvan found his voice. "Make a lesson of me then. Show them what happens to a Bard who challenges you by punishing me."

"Oh, I will," the Nameless One assured him sweetly. "I will make sure that the great Cadvan of Lirigon is broken, but first, I will make war on the city. So, tell me, who is the First Bard. Who must I topple to destroy the School?"

Cadvan shook his head and the Nameless One bared his teeth. _Come now, __Inareskai. You know this play acting of yours is pointless, you haven't the will to refuse me. Give me the name and perhaps it will go easier on them. Perhaps I will not have my Hulls force their mind like Likud did to Basher._

Cadvan's eyes widened and he stared at the Nameless One open-mouthed. It had been a long time since he had considered the events of his youth, and he hadn't thought of Basher, the previous First Bard of Lirigon, that Likud had reduced to a mute, dead eyed woman. He could still remember how her mind had felt after the Hull had infiltrated it, how it had ripped her apart and left her in madness.

_Did you think I didn't see that? _the Nameless One laughed in his mind. _It was funny, watching you and that idiot poet try and piece her mind back together. Perhaps you are curious how I can do the same to you yet leave you with your sanity? I could show you if you want to learn._

_ You disgust me, _Cadvan said evenly. _You and all your ilk._

_ Harbor your disgust all you like, but I want that name. Give it to me, and I won't reduce the First Bard into a drooling simpleton. _The Nameless One looked down at Cadvan, watched his mouth work, trying and failing to stop the words coming.

"Vaclal," he said aloud, and the Hulls laughed louder, some pounding their hands on the tables. "Vaclal is the First Bard of Lirigon."

"Make a note of it," the Nameless One said casually to no one in particular. "I'll want that one alive and unspoiled when he's brought to me. And, tell me," he continued, now strolling away, hands clasped, "Who is the First Bard of Innail?"

Maerad glanced up sharply. If he was hunting down Malgorn, he'd inevitably come across Silvia. Though Maerad did her best to stare straight forward, Cadvan could sense the tension in her like a physical force.

"Malgorn." Cadvan didn't dare look at Maerad. He couldn't bear to see her face pulled with dread.

"Vaclal of Lirigon and Malgorn of Innail." The Nameless One held up his hand. "But there are more, aren't there? Nelac was of Lirigon, though he sits imprisoned in Norloch now, under the dominion of that puppet Bard Enkir. I'll need Nelac once the war is over, he can take Enkir's place. That Bard is useless to me once he's used his army to ravage the free kingdoms." Both Cadvan and Saliman tried to protest, but the Nameless One silenced them with a swift gesture.

"So, who do I forget? The First Bard of Ettinor, Finlan, will surrender when our army comes to them, and Desor already serve me. All the south will fall, and besides, I have their newly appointed First Bard, Saliman of Turbansk. Ileadh? What is the School in Ileadh?"

"Gent, my lord," said Ignalt at once.

"Gent? Enkir will have to claim it, it's too far from me now. But we'll send word to bring the First Bard back. And who is that?" he turned his eyes on Saliman and Cadvan, both of whom were glaring at him in hatred over Nelac. "Who is the First Bard of Gent, Saliman?"

"Gahal_,_" Saliman said tersely.

"Excellent. Make sure to send word to Enkir." The Nameless One leaned against his table with the map of Annar and the seven kingdoms. He surveyed it with pleasure, vibrating with content energy. Like a cat in the sun. "Enkir marches on Il Arunedh even now. I suppose Culain must be dealt with swiftly if we want to cut off access to the sea. The sea!" He slammed his hand down on the table, looking about the room meaningfully. "How did we forget Thorold?"

Cadvan grimaced. _This was bound to happen. There would be no escape for the island this time._

"The School of Busk," he purred. "Tell me, how goes the work there?"

Maerad and Cadvan frowned, confused. _What work was going on in Busk?_

"It's difficult to say," a Hull said. "Evidence seems to suggest that your charm on the First Bard is working. Reports from the maids keeping her house say she is _exhausted _of late, she barely gets through her work, she drinks wine liberally every night before bed. She is slipping."

Cadvan eyes were narrowed, but it was Maerad who spoke. "What have you done to Nerili?" she demanded, her fists clenched.

"Oh, that's right, she aided in your escape from Enkir, didn't she? I suppose you got on quite well with her?" His eyes moved to Cadvan, smirking all over his face. "And, there's no point asking how well _you_ got on with her. It didn't take you even a week your first visit to coax her into your bed. You certainly have a taste for powerful women."

Cadvan had the grace to flush, but Maerad didn't look his way. She had suspected that Nerili and Cadvan had been lovers in the past, it hardly seemed to matter now. "What have you done to her?"

"Listen to this one, demanding answers like she was a queen," the Nameless One said, levelling Maerad with a dark look. He was thinking whether or not it was worthwhile to strike her, to remind her that she wasn't at liberty to speak to him.

The assembled Hulls had fallen silent and were staring at her with dead eyes. Beside her, Cadvan tensed and Maerad knew the Nameless One had just touched his mind. She waited for him to answer, but instead, he waved vaguely in her direction saying, "I warned you I wouldn't tolerate her like this."

Suddenly, Cadvan's arm jerked involuntarily and his hand connected with her face. The shock of being struck-and by Cadvan no less-numbed her to the pain of it. She stared forward, her mouth open in an O of surprise. The Nameless One found this very amusing and laughed heartily. Cadvan was quivering with rage.

"Damn you!" he snarled, but this only induced more laughter from the Hulls. He turned to her, searching her face. "Maerad, forgive me, please. I-I don't know how to stop him-"

"It's fine," Maerad said swiftly, seeing his disgust at himself clearly written across his face. "I mean, it didn't hurt."

"It didn't hurt?" exclaimed the Nameless One, spinning about on the spot. "Cadvan, what kind of game are you playing at? How is she supposed to learn anything if you're not even teaching her a proper lesson? Shall we try it again?"

"No!" Cadvan growled.

The Nameless One opened his mouth with a new taunt, but Hem spoke, loudly and clearly. "At the rate we're going through this council, we won't have to worry about a war because the armies will have died." Saliman snorted at Hem's wit. "No wonder the Light won in the last uprising, I suppose you were all so busy telling jokes they just marched in and killed your forces?"

The Nameless One fixed Hem with strange look: part anger, part amusement. Like he couldn't decide whether or not to hurt the boy or laugh at his impertinence. His head tilted in his consideration so his long braids fell over his shoulder, and Hem briefly thought he looked like Saliman. "What an amusing child," he said slowly, approaching him with one hand raised. He reached out and grabbed a hank of Hem's hair, snapping his head back and forth on his neck. "I ought to make him my personal jester, think you not?"

The Nameless One's grip was so tight on his hair that Hem's eyes watered. "He deserves no better, the little runt from the House of Karn," a Hull said immediately. "He and his sister should be properly shamed for what they did."

"They will," said the Nameless One, still toying with Hem's hair. "I will not let the House of Karn slink away into history inconspicuously. But, the boy is right, we're losing track of this meeting." He released Hem, shoving him with unnecessary force so he hit the ground.

"You ask what I have done to the First Bard of Busk? Nothing." He smiled around at the assembled Hulls who chuckled. "I've merely reached out in the darkness of her dreams and told her of my coming. That she cannot sleep for it, that she must drink copious amounts of wine to avoid the nightmares, that is her own choice. Perhaps she will stop since it seems so detrimental to her work in the School?"

"You've cast a charm on her?" Cadvan asked, horrified. He was perhaps more scared by the potency of the Nameless One's spell, given the distance and the mental wards he must have had to overcome to spell her.

"They are only dreams," said the Nameless One with relish. "Visions of the days yet to come. They disturb her so much that she must numb herself to the pain, and therein lies our chance. When we arrive at Thorold, I will already be in her mind and heart. She will be weak and we will take her and her Bards. It is only a matter of time."

Maerad felt her heart drop. _If Sharma can cast a spell from Dagra to Busk, there can be no power left that challenges him. _

_ It would seem his reach is great, indeed, _Cadvan said darkly. _I can't imagine why Nerili is the target of such malevolence, but no other First Bard is._

_ Thorold stood against him during his first rise to power, and they are some of the most stubborn, proud people in all the seven kingdoms. Perhaps he fears they will defy him._

_ Nerili certainly would. _But then, it seemed that the Nameless One was taking steps to prevent Nerili from challenging him.

"This is the trickery of the Dark I expect," Cadvan said spitefully. "You cannot win out against her strength so you must sneak behind her back. Your Hulls are cowards."

The Nameless One looked around the room. The Hulls weren't laughing now. "That's not nice, Cadvan," he said. "But perhaps you think you have power they do not? Perhaps I shall send you to Busk to bring back Nerili? She would trust you."

Cadvan bared his teeth in a snarl. "I won't hurt my friend."

Now the Nameless One smiled widely. "Ah, but, Cadvan, I plan to send you and Saliman to meet my new lieutenant, the Hull who is leading my army in the war against northern Annar. I think you will have no choice but to hurt your friends."

Saliman looked up sharply. "You're sending _us _to help your army?"

"You forget that I command your loyalty," the Nameless One said carelessly. "You will serve my interests in the north, or I will consider you traitor to my cause. I think you both know what happens next."

Though Saliman looked ready to argue, Cadvan sighed. He could not betray the Nameless One so long as Maerad was in his power. "When do we go?" he asked tiredly.

"Oh, at once I think," said the Nameless One. "You'll have to ride hard to meet my army. In two days time, you and Saliman along with a contingent of my Hulls will make for Eleve. From there, you will march north."

"What can we possibly do for you?" Saliman demanded. "You've taken the care to mark us with your Sick Moon. Every Bard knows what that means. They will not trust us."

"Keep you sleeve down then, idiot," a Hull said nastily.

"Oh, there is much work for you two," the Nameless One assured him. "Have no fear, I will send word ahead of the tasks I need you to complete. It will certainly keep you busy."

"If the Hulls can do it without us, why bother?" Cadvan asked. He longed to leave Dagra, to be away from the shadow of the Nameless One, but he feared leaving Maerad behind and he suspected that whatever job the Nameless One had arranged would be unpleasant. "Why allow us to leave at all?"

"I think it will be good for you." The Nameless approached Cadvan and used one finger to lift his chin. "I have a special surprise for you, Cadvan."

"I can hardly wait," he said dryly.

The Nameless One turned away back to the room at large. He slunk toward his throne and relaxed in it, eyes closed for a minute. "We will take Northern Annar while Enkir claims the west in my name. Once the routes to the sea are closed, we will send both armies together to finish Thorold. Let the island feel the noose tightening."

"Is that your wish, my lord?" asked Ignalt.

"Bring as many of the Bards back as you can-preferably in once piece. I will have need of them. And the First Bards, they must be relatively unscathed, let them come before me in their full power so that none may say they fell only because they were weak. The Bards must know that even their greatest mages cannot contend my will. There can be no hope."

The Hulls hummed with excited energy, but the Bards kneeling before the Nameless One looks around with a blank horror on their faces. "The two brats from Pellinor will remain here, as insurance."

Maerad, her face still smarting from Cadvan's blow made a sound much like a growl. "Are you afraid of what we might accomplish if we were to escape?"

"Cadvan, I really can't deal with her outbursts anymore. Keep her quiet, or I'm locking her in your rooms and never letting her out again," the Nameless One said simply.

_Maerad, please, _he said desperately. _I can't control what he makes me do_

Maerad turned away, breathing out loudly through her nose but remaining silence. When her silence stretched almost a minute, the Nameless One drew his hands together. "You must all prepare to leave. The longer we wait, the more time the Bard's have to sure up their defenses. And _you two_," he said, his eyes darting Saliman to Cadvan, "make your goodbyes. I imagine it will be a while before you come back."

The Hulls were speaking to each other in hushed voices, though the one called Ignalt was watching Maerad closely. After a moment, it drew the attention of the Nameless One and the two fell into a deep conversation. The Nameless One smiled darkly and glanced at Maerad. In his gaze was a cruel, bright light; something must have amused him.

Before Maerad could pursue the issue, she felt the weight of the Nameless One's will lift and she could move. Though he said nothing, the Bards realized they had been dismissed. It was a sign of his confidence in his power that the Nameless One didn't bother sending them away with an escort, merely waved them off. Maerad rose up uncertainly to her feet, wary of Nameless One attacking her, but Cadvan caught her arm and pulled her close to him.

"Saliman," the Nameless One said flippantly, "you've done well. I arranged a room for you to make your own. We certainly can't have you sharing a living space with Cadvan when you come back with that lovely Hekibel."

Saliman went pale but nodded stiffly. "As you'll have it."

"You could thank me," the Nameless One pointed out politely. "Since I have seen fit to house you, clothe you, feed you."

"Thank you," Saliman said deliberately.

The Nameless One grimaced as if in pain. "First Cadvan, now you. _Say it right_."

Saliman tipped him a slight bow. "Thank you, master."

"Good. On your way then," he said, waving them off, suddenly uninterested in Bards.

They left, the eyes on of the Hulls following them to the doors. It was the most unnerving experience any of them had ever, and Maerad pressed against Cadvan's side, desperate to leave. In the hall, Maerad paused, searching the dark passageways that led off; one of them had to lead to an exit. One of them meant freedom.

_No freedom, not while Sharma has Cadvan's Name. _She still stared, though.

Beside her, Cadvan could feel her longing like a physical thing. "I wouldn't stop you. I couldn't help you, in fact, I suspect the Nameless One would send me after you, but I wouldn't stop you."

"I wouldn't get far," Maerad said indifferently and turned away.

Cadvan led them off breathing a sigh of relief. He knew that the Nameless One would have ordered him bring Maerad back, and he suspected the Nameless One would have forced him to hurt her. His pride still smarted over the Nameless One's complete control over his body, and he wasn't keen to have that power tested again. In some ways, Cadvan felt like he was running away, and it left a bitter taste in his mouth.

_You can nurse your wounded pride later, _he thought, throwing open the door to his room and ushering the others in.

A heavy silence descended on the group during which Hem poured them each a glass of strong wine. Saliman, who was thinking that he didn't want to leave Hem unattended in the tower of the Nameless One, wondered if this trip to Annar was the opportunity to find Hekibel. Of course, that would mean bringing her back here, but it was perhaps safer than leaving her to fend for herself. He watched Hem serve the wine and wondered if he should tell him why he had to go.

"If you leave in two days, I ought to make sure you're properly on the mend, Saliman. I doubt there will be healers with the company you'll be travelling in." said Hem finally.

Saliman blinked dumbly. He didn't know what he expected Hem to say, but this wasn't it. "I do not think Cadvan or I will actually be in battle, Hem."

"You'll be riding for weeks," said Hem flatly. "I'm not letting you ride that if you're not in good condition."

Cadvan raised his eyebrows at Hem's directness, but a smile played on his lips. "I wouldn't refuse him, Saliman. The young man seems a hard task master."

"He would certainly never forgive me if I fell ill on this trip."

"Indeed, I would not," Hem said stoutly. "So, finish your wine and let me see to these injuries."

Saliman held up his hands in defeat. "You win, you win! I shall be the most obedient patient you ever had, Hem. Just let me finish my wine."

Hem watched Saliman severely, and Maerad felt a thrill of laughter. She did not think such a thing were possible in Dagra. His wine gone, Saliman rose unsteadily and followed Hem to what must have been his own rooms, positioned directly across the hall. Maerad snorted when she saw Hem offer Saliman his arm to help him balance and the Bard looked offended.

"My brother is certainly a strict healer," she said as the doors closed.

"He uses strictness to hide his affection for Saliman, I'm sure," said Cadvan as he filled his glass anew. "I think your brother loves Saliman deeply and is worried for him. I admit, I worry for him. He was already ill when he arrived here, and the Nameless One would only have used that to his advantage."

"You'll keep an eye on him on the way to Lirigon?" Maerad asked.

Cadvan's face closed in pain. "Yes, I suppose I will have to watch him. It's a long road from here to there, and in the company of Hulls no less."

Gently, uncertainly, Maerad reached out and touched Cadvan's arm, but he didn't seem to notice. She knew behind the carefully constructed blank façade, Cadvan was in turmoil, but she wasn't sure how to offer him any comfort. "I cannot tell you it will be alright," she said softly. "But you won't be alone."

This seemed to surprise Cadvan, who jerked his gaze away from his wine to her. He smiled and it was bitter and forced. "What do you mean, Maerad?"

"To go to Lirigon," she said deliberately. "To go and watch while the Black Army destroys your home. I have seen visions of Pellinor's fall and I will never forget the hole that opened in my heart. But you won't be alone. You'll have Saliman with you, and me, when you return."

She saw him trying to keep the smile on his face, trying to hide the storm of emotions tearing through him, but quite suddenly it fell apart and Cadvan covered his face with his hands. He didn't speak, and after a moment, heard his shallow breaths while he wept. His tears shocked her, for she thought that Dagra was no place to show such weakness, but then, how could he not weep?

She watched him a moment and thought she had never seen him look so small and vulnerable, and it woke a fury in her she hadn't known before. Cadvan was one of the bravest men she knew, and to see him so wounded almost injured _her_, and she was surprised by the depth of her own anger. She thought when she had watched Pellinor burn and Enkir smite her mother, she had known fury, but this was greater still. It was one thing to hurt her, for she was the One who would have killed him, but Sharma's cruelty directed at a man whose only crime was helping her made her blood pound loudly in her ears. She wished fiercely she had the claws and fangs of a wolf that she might tear out Sharma's throat for this.

_I'll make you pay for this, Sharma, _she thought viciously, energy pulsing through her veins. _For the tears you made him shed, for the darkness you put in his heart, I'll make you pay. _She looked down at her own hands and found they were gripping her knees so tightly they would leave marks. She released her hands, and with it, the anger was gone. But the memory lingered, and Maerad wondered at it, for in that moment she felt like she could have ripped Sharma asunder. The power of her anger terrified her.

Perhaps to comfort herself more than anything, Maerad drew Cadvan into her arms and rested her chin on the crown of his head. His grief shook through his body and Maerad squeezed tighter as if her arms alone were holding him together. After a long time, Cadvan shifted and Maerad loosened her grip on him. When he straightened up, she saw that his face was pale and his eyes dry but red.

"I am sorry, Maerad. Lirigon has always held a special place in my heart. Even after my banishment I suppose it was the one place I considered my home. My family-what was left of them-were there. The thought of the Black Army laying waste to it is-"

"You don't have to say," Maerad said swiftly, sensing his distress. She looked away to give him privacy. "I was fortunate in some ways. I was too young to remember much of Pellinor-aside from its destruction. Whatever I lost, I didn't know it." Maerad paused a moment, not sure what else to say and saw that Cadvan's eyes were blank, his thoughts far away. "Will you tell me about it?"

He started. "Tell you about-about Lirigon?"

"Why not?" Maerad asked, reaching out and placing her palm on his cheek. When he didn't look at her, she turned his face to hers and she smiled. "You said we would go there when this was all over. Since I don't think that will happen now, maybe you can tell me about it?"

Cadvan's gaze moved over her face and he laughed to himself. "Ah, Maerad. I must keep you close. You seem to be the only person capable of making me smile anymore. I will tell you of Lirigon. I will use my verbal skills, weak as they are, to paint for you images of the most beautiful city in all of Annar and seven kingdoms. But be aware, my words won't do the city much justice."

Maerad settled back against Cadvan's shoulder and he wrapped his arm around her. He smiled down on her and placed a kiss on her waiting lips. She blushed but laughed. "Don't distract me. Tell me a story of Lirigon."

"You're a demanding mistress, I'll give you that," he chuckled, but pressed her against his side, enjoying the sensation of her there. "I grew up in the Fesse of Lirigon, near a river where, as I told you once, I spoke to the fish."

"It told you to get some fins," Maerad said dreamily.

"That was the nicest thing the fish said to me, if truth be told. To this day, I do not recommend the fish of Lirigon. They're rude and it gives them bad flavor."

Maerad, tucked under Cadvan's arm, turned her face so it rested against his chest. She thought she might be able to sleep like that. "What was the meanest thing they said to you?"

Cadvan looked horribly offended. "I dare not repeat it."

Maerad poked his chest playfully. "Clearly it was bad. It's stayed with you this long."

He flushed. "If you must know, the fish made some very _crude_ comments about my physical appearance, with reference to one particular region."

"I can only imagine how well you took that."

"I was a young man then! It mattered quite a bit to a boy my age." Cadvan smarted. "But come, let me tell you of the city."

"I'd like that," said Maerad, and she closed her eyes, listening to the cadence of Cadvan's voice as he began telling her of his childhood in Lirigon.


	15. Chapter 15

Author's Note: This one is a bit longer than I intended, but I really wanted to spend some time developing the romance. I hope it does them justice!

Chapter 15

The key grinding in the lock jerked Nelac from his fitful sleep so that when the young Bard entered to collect him, Nelac was already awake. Nelac saw with a little bit of pleasure that the Bard was disconcerted by his wide eyes and attentive face. He'd probably expected Nelac to be asleep and could have shaken him awake. Now, he had to cross the cell under his bright gaze, and he was mildly ashamed; Nelac of Lirigon was a true Bard of the Light no matter what Enkir said.

"The First Bard has requested your presence," the young man said, looking carefully just over Nelac's shoulder.

Nelac wanted to shake the man, knock sense into his daft head, but he knew it would get him nowhere. He smiled faintly. "If Enkir would like to speak to me, I see no reason to keep him waiting. Perhaps you would do me the favor of helping me to my feet? I fear that I've spent too long on the ground for my old bones."

The Bard moved across the room, aware of the eyes on him, and took a firm grip on Nelac's arm. The old man heaved himself upright, grimacing a little: he hadn't been lying about his old bones. He leaned on the younger man as they walked, taking the stairs carefully and moving on uneven footing in the halls. The Bard led Nelac to Enkir's private study and rapped gently on the door. After a moment, the door creaked and swung forward.

"You will make it on your own?" he asked, quite sure he wanted to get as far from Nelac as possible.

"I think I'll manage," Nelac said, not unkindly. "Thank you."

The small gesture of thanks unnerved the other Bard, who bowed awkwardly. He glanced nervously at the door where Enkir waited and debated offering a word of kindness, but Nelac waved him off.

"Perhaps you will wait, though? I trust someone will have to return to me to my cell."

"I'll wait," the young Bard said, and when the old man crossed over the threshold and closed the door, he felt shame stirring in his heart. This wasn't right.

Inside the study, though, Nelac put his thoughts of the young man out of his mind. Enkir stood opposite him with his back turned. He was looking out a large window, enjoying a view of all of Norloch and thinking how the city might look when the White Fire had finally burned away the Dark had the traitors of the Light were purged from the land. It was a shame so many Bards were refusing to follow him, but sometimes dead branches had to be culled to save a growing tree. Some Bards would have to be sacrificed to save the White Flame.

_And this is one of them, _he thought when he heard the door close. _A pity that Nelac chose loyalty to the Dark over his service to the Light. He would have made a powerful ally._

_ He'll make a better slave, _said a voice in the back of his mind. _Send him away to the south, to the waiting hands of the Dark. Wash yourself of him so his blood isn't on your hands when the time comes._

Enkir jerked in response to the voice. It sent an unnatural tremor down his spine but then he felt a numbness wash over his body. It was a relief to give in to the sensation of the White Flame burning through him. For surely, that's what it was: this aura that had possessed him for years now was the embodiment of the White Flame. He was the First Bard and in him, the White Flame lived, it directed him, led him to the true path. He was merely its servant.

"You should know, Nelac," he said after a moment, enjoying the warm approbation of the voice, "that this meeting brings me no join. This is our parting of ways, the end of what I think until recently was a long, fruitful relationship."

He turned around to face the other Bard and was repulsed. This was a traitor to the White Flame, this man had consorted with the worst of their kind and deserved death. He wondered if he did the man better service to simply kill him then, not march him to Den Raven where the Dark would make a thrall of him.

_Don't kill him, _said the voice. _That is not the way of the Light. Send him into Darkness where he belongs. Do not sully your pure Light with murder. _

"I am sad to hear that," Nelac said, and noticed that there was a strange glow in Enkir's eyes. The dark flash of manic energy. "I thought perhaps you and I could sit and discuss our differences in the old way. We had many a lively debate in our time."

"I do not wish to debate." Enkir studied the old man closely. Aside from his exhaustion, he seemed little changed by his time in his cell. "There is nothing to say. You betrayed the Light, you allowed Cadvan and that girl to escape justice. You know they are murderers."

Nelac came into the room slowly. Something was pushing him back, some malignant force was growing and roiling about, and it tried to force him against the wall. He threw himself against it and felt it give way a little, but Nelac suspected it was merely a game. It was not any weaker for his attack. He took a chair before the Enkir's desk and sat down heavily.

"They are not murderers or liars, Enkir. They speak the truth, I myself gave Maerad her Name. She is the One." He reached out his consciousness to touch Enkir but was immediately repelled by a barrier of unbearable fire. "Please, it is more important now than ever that we find her and Cadvan. I have had a vision and I fear that the Dark moves now."

"Silence!" Enkir hissed, his eyes flashing. "You are confused, poisoned by Cadvan of Lirigon. My sources tell me he has turned Hull and is teaching his little student Dark magics. He should never have been reinstated."

"Cadvan is _not_ a Hull," Nelac said firmly. "I saw-"

"Oh, and what did you _see_?" Enkir sneered. "Forgive me, Nelac, but you were never famed as a Seer. What great vision has the Light granted you that you may speak of the workings of the Dark?"

Nelac's mouth went dry. The vision had been almost a week before, but it had haunted him. The dark room where Maerad lay unconscious on the floor and Cadvan desperately pleaded with a dark shape. Nelac flinched away from the memory, for Cadvan's face was drawn tight with fear and his eyes bright with pain. Nelac had never, not even in the face in the Bone Queen, seen such a look of horror on the man's face. He knew only one creature that could scare Cadvan so deeply.

"The Nameless One has returned," Nelac said softly.

"Impossible." Enkir eyed the other Bard angrily. "I would know."

_Of course, you would know! _crowed the voice, outraged. _The White Flame lives in you. If the Dark had returned, you would know it and you would destroy it. The old Bard lies, he is jealous that you were chosen and not him. He wants to be my vessel._

"You wish to sow discord among the Bards of the Light!" Enkir accused, slamming a hand on his desk. "You fear mongerer! You would upset the Balance, cast the Schools into chaos so that the Dark may come upon us and strike."

"Enkir, I swear on the Light, I have seen the rise of the Nameless One!" Nelac tried again to reach him, but the same fire pushed him away. "I fear he has reclaimed the Treesong. Maerad and Cadvan are in Dagra, they are his prisoners, and he had used them to make himself whole."

"If they are in Dagra, it is because they have gone to serve their master," Enkir spat. "I will have them executed for this. I will put out word to all the loyal Schools that Cadvan of Lirigon and Maerad of the Mountains have betrayed the Light and are even now plotting with the servants of the Dark."

"I beg you, Enkir," Nelac pleaded. "Put aside your petty squabbles and rally the forces of the Light. The Schools must prepare for battle with the Black Army. They are coming!"

"_Petty squabbles_?" Enkir rasped. He leaned across the table so his face was inches from Nelac's. "You dare mock the greatest threat to the Light? The Nameless One is gone, but the Dark still moves. I will cast it out and save our people from destruction."

"And how will you do that? By declaring anyone who does not swear fealty outlaw? By refusing to teach women or the people of the north? What crimes have they committed?" Nelac had lost his temper, for he felt that Enkir must have gone mad not to notice the Dark that even now swirled around them.

"They are weak!" Enkir howled, and now his face had lit up with a manic light. "They are not worthy of the Light, and it burns through them too fast. Extinguished. If we allow those undeserving of the Light to bear it, we will surely die. Our people, our way of life, will be extinct. We must nourish the Light only in the strongest."

Nelac gaped at him. "What madness is this?"

"No madness." Enkir leaned backed, smiling crookedly at Nelac. "You say you have visions? Well, so do I. For in me, the White Flame had been reborn anew. It whispers in my ear the path to salvation. I am its vessel."

"The White Flame is in all of us, Enkir," he said reasonably, though in the back of his mind he felt something like clawed fingers stroking his consciousness. "We are all vessels of the Light."

"No," Enkir said petulantly. "I am the First Bard and in me the White Flame is made flesh. I have seen the future of Bard kind and I alone know the way forward."

"And what way is that?" Nelac asked softly, willing the claws back.

_Do I tell him, this traitor of the Light, how I will save us? _He wondered.

_Let him know, _answered the voice. _Let him know and be tormented by the truth, because he will be cast out. He will not be saved, and he will live with that knowledge till the end of his days._

Enkir smiled but it didn't reach his eyes. "The Schools will unite as one force, and we, the worthy souls chosen to carry the Light, will march forth on the ungrateful people of this land and subjugate them. We will use our strength to start a new world order where the Light and those who bear it will be recognized as saviors. The White Flame will burn away the darkness of the past and the guilty, and from the ashes, a new world will rise."

Nelac shook his head in horror. "This is not the Light. The Light would never be served through war."

Enkir shrugged and turned back to his view of the city. "Sometimes, the Flame burns."

"You cannot fool me," Nelac said sharply. "This is not the Light you serve, but the machinations of the Dark."

Abruptly, the force that had been pushing against Nelac vanished. At the same time, though, Enkir's entire body jerked sharply so that his neck bent at an odd angle, his wrists twisted and his fingers broke. Nelac noticed with distracted horror that his shadow on the wall was tall and crooked and took the shape of a cloaked figure. It floated along the wall, over bookshelves and lamps and paintings until it was even with Enkir where it vanished. There was another sharp crack and Enkir's body was returned to normal. When he spoke, this voice had taken on a cool, empty quality.

"What are you saying, Nelac? That I, the First Bard of all of Annar, do not serve the Light?"

Nelac had gone cold at the sound of the voice. "I do not think you are the First Bard of Annar. I do not think you are Enkir." It had become hard to speak.

"Now you speak nonsense, Nelac," the voice said smoothly. "I am Enkir, First Bard of Norloch, member of the First Circle, most trusted advisor of the Light. In me the Light is made flesh."

"The Light is not _made flesh_. It lives in each of us, in our hearts and souls." Nelac drew a shallow breath. "A true Bard of the Light would know that, but you're not a Bard, are you?"

Enkir went very still, so still he might have topped breathing. "And what exactly do you think I am, Nelac?"

Nelac stared at the rigid back of Enkir. He knew his answer, but he didn't want to say it. "I think you are a creature of the Dark who has slunk like some noxious gas into the heart of the Light."

"Name me, Nelac," said the empty voice. "You know and yet you do not say. Are you so afraid? Name me!"

Nelac bared his teeth. "I do not fear you, Sharma. I know you are nothing but a shadow on the Light. A small, mean creature."

A long silence followed this pronouncement. "You do not fear me? You did not fear you vision of my return?" There was a smile in the voice now. "You do not fear for Mearad and Cai of Pellinor or Cadvan of Lirigon and Saliman of Turbansk, who are even now prisoners in my fastness? Shall I tell you what I did to them?"

Nelac was shaking with anger. "I would not trust you."

"Ah, but you saw them, didn't you, curled up before my throne?" Enkir drew his hands together. "Cadvan trembled in fear before my might. He begged me to spare him in exchange for the girl."

"Liar," Nelac swore. Though he had no doubt that Cadvan had bowed to the might of the Nameless One, he knew he would not abandon Maerad. "You are an abomination of the Light."

Enkir chuckled. "Perhaps you are right. Your little Bard was brave until the very end, but they are mine now. Slaves to my Darkness who will be made to pay for their crimes against me. You all will be."

Nelac clenched his fists. "I am not afraid of you."

"Not yet, Nelac of Lirigon." Enkir turned slowly on the spot and Nelac gasped at the sight of his face. It was twisted so that the skin was pulled tight over the bones. His cheek bones had shifted up so that his dark eyes almost popped out of his skull. His mouth was a wide gash across his face and his tongue lashed around behind jagged teeth. Nelac noticed with pity that tears were leaking out of Enkir's eyes. The pain of playing host to the Nameless One's consciousness must have been unbearable.

Nelac leaned back in his seat. "You are horrid," he said breathlessly.

"I am come again," he said in that dead voice. "There will be no escape for the servants of the Light. And you, Nelac of Lirigon, will have a place of honor in my new order."

"I would rather die."

"It is not your choice. You will come to me." Enkir gnashed his teeth. "It is time you met your fate in Dagra." Enkir jerked again and there was a powerful gust of wind. Nelac covered his eyes and when he looked back, Enkir had returned to normal, smiling grimily. "I cannot abide your presence in this bastion of the Light. You will be sent south to Den Raven. I will let the creatures of the Dark deal with you."

"What?" Nelac rasped, staring wildly around him.

"I have arranged for some of my most trusted Bards to collect you and take you to Den Raven. You may join those monsters that you claim to despise so much. If you speak the truth, then you will die an honorable death. If you lie, then it is only a matter of time before my army comes for you."

"Enkir, listen to me," Nelac said frantically. "You must cast out the Dark in you! A door must have remained opened after our battle with the Bone Queen. The Nameless One has used it to reach your mind and-"

"_Stop lying_!" Enkir commanded. He waved at the door and it swung forward, emitting three men. Nelac turned to send them off, but his words died in his throat. They were Hulls. They had barely even bothered to disguise themselves, and Nelac suspected that the will of the Nameless One had clouded Enkir's eyes. "I will not tolerate your Dark anymore. These Bards will escort you to the boarder."

"Listen to me, Enkir-"

"No more." Enkir waved his hand and Nelac felt his mouth snap shut. He shifted his gaze to the Hulls. "Get him away from here."

"It is our pleasure," said one Hull, smirking all over its face. It placed a hand on Nelac's shoulder, squeezing tightly. "We will see this traitor into the hands of the Dark."

* * *

"We're leaving tomorrow morning before the sun rises, so take care not to come late." Ignalt was pacing before Cadvan and Saliman, who were both seated on the couch before the fire in Cadvan's rooms. "You'll ride the horses you came on, so take care to make sure they're in condition for a long journey."

Cadvan's heart leapt at the thought of seeing Darsor again, even though if it was for such a horrible errand. "The horses are in fine condition, it is how hard you ride them that makes for a difficult journey."

"If your horses fail you, we'll butcher them and put you on something else," Ignalt said coldly. "There is no time for the sympathy of a Bard heart. We have a city to conquer."

Saliman and Cadvan both looked prepared to argue, but Ignalt held up his hand, silencing them both. He smiled toothily at their compliance. "Once we leave the city, you will be given back your swords, but you will take care to keep them sheathed unless commanded otherwise. You are not trusted servants of our master, you are conscripted Bards. Slaves. You will be treated as such on this journey. Have you any questions?"

"How precisely will we serve the Nameless One if we cannot draw a sword?" Saliman asked mildly.

"Your role in this will be made clear in time, have no fear," Ignalt responded sweetly, glancing swiftly at Cadvan.

He was reminded again that the Nameless One had promised him a special surprise. _Though what surprise the Nameless One could offer me I dare not ask. It is likely to be a nightmare._

"I'll see you both in the morning," the Hull said finally before turning and leaving them.

Saliman shook his head. "This is sure to be unpleasant."

"I do not relish the thought of the Black Army laying waste to my home," Cadvan admitted, glancing over Saliman's face. He, after all, had already lost his home to the Dark. "It will be bitter to be part of the army that destroys it."

"I doubt they will send us into the battle," Saliman said reasonably. "Unless the Nameless One completely takes over our bodies and minds, we would poor soldiers."

"And Malgorn and Silvia?" Cadvan asked darkly. "What of them when we arrive at Innail?"

Saliman sighed. "I fear for them. The Nameless One clearly has an interest in the First Bards, so Malgorn is sure to be taken alive. He will perhaps join us in this forsaken tower." Unconsciously, Saliman rubbed his brand. He too, had been named First Bard and enjoyed the privileges of that title in Dagra. "I suspect that the Nameless One will use Silvia to bring him to heel."

Cadvan sat a moment considering his two friends. He had no doubt they were both Bards of high quality, but a place like Dagra would destroy even the most powerful of Bards, and they were both gentle souls at heart. He worried that the process of breaking Malgorn's mind would be too great for the man and drive him mad. And Silvia, Maerad's adopted mother, would certainly fair no better. The Nameless One might take special interest in her solely because of her role in Maerad's life, and Cadvan could attest to the torment that came from being important to Maerad.

_By the Light, I don't want to leave her. _Though Cadvan told himself he meant leaving Maerad unattended in the Nameless One's court, he knew that in his heart, he would miss her sorely. He reflected on the previous night, where Maerad had fallen asleep listening to tales of Lirigon and he had carried her jealously into the bedroom where he put her to bed. She had woken briefly, caught his hand, gazed up at him from under the covers, and asked him to keep watch. Cadvan had settled on the small couch in the bedroom and fallen asleep to the image of Maerad, drenched in moonlight like Ardina, sleeping in his bed.

"Cadvan, I've a favor to ask," Saliman said quite suddenly. He toyed with the sleeve of his shirt anxiously. "I'm going to look for Hekibel among the captives. If you find her, will you bring her to me?"

Cadvan blinked. "You think it wise to bring her? Your attention could get her into trouble with the Hulls."

"The Hulls already know," Saliman admitted bitterly. "The Nameless One knows about her. I couldn't keep him out of my memories of her, and he said I could bring her back here so long as I did as he ordered."

Cadvan bowed his head. He understood the struggle of wanting to protect someone you loved while balancing the risk your love put them in. "I don't know what she looks like, but I'll search for her."

"I'll show you," Saliman said, turning to face Cadvan directly. "If you look, you'll see her."

Cadvan worried his lip but stared into Saliman's eyes. He wasn't keen on scrying another Bard, even one who offered their memories so willingly, because it was never just the memories that came with it. When Cadvan glanced into Saliman's mind, he saw the image of a beautiful woman with long, thick blond hair tied back off a round, blushing face. He felt a brief pulse of desire-Saliman's desire-when he saw her pleasingly curvy body dressed in a simple red down and traveling cloak. For a moment, he thought he heard her low, thoughtful voice and his heart-Saliman's heart-beat a little faster. He had an urge to gather the woman up in his arms and press her against him.

He snapped back into his body, shying away from Saliman's emotions. "If I find her, I give you my word I'll see her safely to you."

Saliman laughed hollowly. "I feel like I betray her. In exchange for her love, I give her a life of torment under the eyes of the Nameless One. I am selfish to want her."

"No, you're not," Cadvan said at once, partly because he felt the same about Maerad. "You could not hide how you felt in your heart, and the Nameless One would have sensed your feelings for her regardless. The best way to protect her now is to keep her here, yes, under the Nameless One's eyes, but also under your own. You can protect her here."

"Protect her from the raiders that will sack Innail maybe," Saliman said angrily. "But should the Nameless One or any of his Hulls decide to hurt her, I'm useless to defend."

"The Nameless One is cruel and enjoys suffering, but he also keeps his word. No doubt it amuses him to play games, but he has not hurt Maerad yet though he easily could. I do not think he will break his oath so long as you keep yours."

Saliman thought of the last day in the council and how he had forced Cadvan to strike Maerad. "My oath is what scares me. What if he makes me do something that is unforgiveable?"

Cadvan and Saliman stared long into each other's faces. Since the Nameless One had used Cadvan to hit Maerad, he had begun to worry that he might make him to other things. Cadvan wondered distantly what the worst thing the Nameless One could make him do was, and though he had an idea, he was so repulsed by it he refused to entertain it till then.

"It is not your will," Cadvan said stiffly. "Hekibel will know that. She will forgive you."

"Does Maerad?" Saliman asked shrewdly.

Cadvan looked down. "She swore to me she would forgive me no matter what I did. So far, she has."

"What if she didn't?" Saliman whispered.

"Then I would never forgive myself," he said in a hard voice. "I would spend the rest of what I can only assume is going to be a very long life hating myself. Perhaps then, the Nameless One would win."

Saliman bowed his head. "These are dark thoughts. I am sorry, Cadvan, but I am plagued by them recently."

"I was too," said Cadvan, not unkindly. "For a long time, I had only dark dreams and dark thoughts, and I feared that I would go mad with them."

"What changed?" Saliman wondered.

Cadvan smiled sadly and nodded in the direction of the bathroom where Maerad was soaking in a bath. "This is a dark place, so we must make our own light."

"That, at least, Hekibel will give me." Saliman sat back, hands on his knees. "I'll leave you now. I must speak with Hem, make him promise not to do anything that might get him into trouble while I'm gone. He's not happy with me, I tell you that."

"He wants you to stay?" guessed Cadvan, standing up to join Saliman.

"He understands I must go, but he is angry that I am in poor condition. I'm surprised he didn't make you promise to keep an eye on me. He overspent himself last night trying to heal some sore muscles and bruised bones. He'll sleep for a day once I'm gone."

"He's as gifted with healing as Maerad is with Elidhu magic," Cadvan said thoughtfully. "Did he really heal you of the White Sickness? I think even Nelac would have struggled with such a task."

"Aye, he did," said Saliman, a little fascination still in his voice. "I don't know how he managed it, I can't begin to imagine what it cost him, but he saved my life. I love him dearly for it."

Cadvan thought back to the many times Maerad had saved his life. "They are a wonderous pair of Bards, these Pellinor folk. I've begun to think the only reason I'm alive now is because of Maerad. She's saved my life so many times it's beginning to hurt my pride."

"I sometimes think…" Saliman wandered off, his silence filling the room.

"Think what?" Cadvan asked, sensing the tension in Saliman's voice.

"I sometimes think that this business with the Nameless One-that it might not be over yet." He glanced into the hall and, not seeing any Hulls, said very quickly, "I know we are lost, I know he has our Names and the Song, but I can't help thinking that there is still some trick op their sleeves."

Cadvan nodded seriously. "Me too. I suppose we'll just have to wait and see what comes of this, but I feel it. Or, perhaps it is just a wild hope, but it's there all the same."

Saliman breathed a sigh of relief. "I almost forgot what hope felt like. Regardless, I'll leave you now to make your own goodbyes and arrangements." He gave him a rascally wink. "Good evening."

Cadvan shook his head, laughing, and closed the door. He returned to the fire to sit and ruminate on the coming morning and his growing unease about returning to the north. He didn't like the thought of waging war against Innail or Lirigon. The thought of Malgorn and Silvia and Indik at the mercy of the Dark was particularly distasteful.

"You look unhappy. Did the meeting with Ignalt go poorer than expected?"

Maerad had emerged silently from the bath and crept up behind Cadvan. When he turned to greet her, he was shocked to find that she had only wrapped herself in a thin shift and robe through which. Her damp hair hung in long, thick strands down her shoulders and back, almost touching her waist, and a small puddle was forming at her feet.

He smiled in an attempt to hide the desire that must have been plain on his face. "I didn't know a mermaid had taken up residence in my rooms."

Maerad rolled her eyes, tossing her hair back with a wet slap. She came around to join him, sitting instead on the floor before the fire to dry herself off. "A mermaid cursed to walk on two feet."

"A spell, surely," he replied. Seated before the fire, Cadvan could see the delicate curves of Maerad's body through her thin robe. He pressed down the image of his hands on Maerad's bare body. "Just some instructions for Saliman and I. Be ready to ride by dawn, remember your place, keep your senses about you."

Maerad raised an eyebrow. "When did Ignalt become so polite?"

"Well, he didn't say it in those words," Cadvan amended.

"You leave at dawn then?" Maerad asked after a beat, staring out the window to the dark sky and thinking that her time with him was waning.

"I'm afraid so," he said softly. "But don't fear, I'm sure the oath with the Nameless One still stands. I'll see to it you're safe."

They were simple words, but the implication behind them was severe. Cadvan would see to her safety by sacrificing himself to the Black Army. "If you see Silvia, will you tell her I miss her and I'm sorry?"

Cadvan glanced over sharply at Maerad who was now staring into the fire. "Of course."

"I'll miss you too, you know," said Maerad suddenly, her eyes bright when she looked into his face. "It's not that I'm afraid to be here alone. Well, I am, but it's not that. I don't want you to go."

Cadvan's eyes widened and he took himself from the couch to crouch on the floor beside her. He took her face in his hands and kissed her deeply. She leaned against him so her body was pressed against his chest. Cadvan couldn't suppress the growl that vibrated in his throat. "I don't want to leave you. Even if I were leaving you in Innail, safe and loved with Malgorn and Silvia, I shouldn't want to leave you."

"Perhaps you could convince Sharma-"

"No," said Cadvan sharply, pulling back just a little so he could look into her face. "I don't want you to see what happens next."

"You'll leave me here to wait and see the Bards after their homes are burned?" she asked a little more bitterly than she intended.

"It's not that you're too weak, it's just…" Cadvan didn't know how to explain to her that he wanted to keep her away from it because he feared the dimming of her light. He knew that he relied on her now to be a source of hope and love and joy, the only thing in all of Dagra that kept him sane, and if she saw the war it would destroy the light in her. He couldn't bear to see her that way. "I'm a selfish man, Maerad, and I want to see you smile again."

Maerad looked down and took his hands and she brought them to her lips and kissed his knuckles. "I'll always smile for you if that's what you want."

_By the Light, there are other things I want, _he thought before he could stop himself, but said, "I think that if you are a spectator of this war, any joy left in you will be gone."

"And what of you?" Maerad demanded passionately, tightening her grip on his hands. "What will happen to you when your home is burned and your friends made slaves? Will you come back to me with dead eyes and an empty heart."

Cadvan lowered his gaze, Maerad was painfully perceptive of his fears. "I cannot promise I won't come back with pain in my heart, but I will swear to you that I will do everything in my power to recover."

Maerad looked into Cadvan's face for a long moment thinking of the years she had spent as a slave. Seven years a slave had left her with little hope and an empty soul; she thought she had been amazed that it was possible to be alive but feel dead. Would Cadvan be the same? If her mother, who had been the First Bard of Pellinor, had given into despair, why wouldn't Cadvan?

She stroked his face. "You were always a man of formidable will. You will not surrender to despair."

Cadvan basked in her touch. "This is dark talk, Maerad, and I'd prefer not to spend the last night here with you in such discussion."

Maerad smiled faintly. "I fear all talk of late has been dark. You're right, it's not appropriate if you're going to be gone by tomorrow morning. She looked around the room as if searching for another topic, but it was hard to find light conversation when they were in Dagra. Instead, Maerad gestured to the bedroom.

"Perhaps I should help you prepare to leave? Order your pack and all," she said with a strained smile.

Cadvan eyed her sardonically but smiled slowly. "It will be like old times, yes? We two nomads, traveling from house to house like proper Bards. Yes, come, let us see if the Nameless One left me anything worthy of travel or if I'll have to go everywhere in silk shirts and soft trousers."

Cadvan followed Maerad into the bedroom they shared, and though he kept his eyes on her slender shoulders he had an image in his mind of her on the bed. _Stop thinking like that, you cad. You two may have feelings for each other, but you know she'll need your patience. She'll need time. _

"Well, he's indeed given you plenty of cotton trousers and shirts," said Maerad, smirking and holding up a soft, blue shirt with black detailing on the cuffs. "Where do these things come from in such a forsaken place?"

Cadvan fingered the sleeve; it was of surprisingly fine make. "There is a strict social order in Den Raven. Though many of the people are slaves, there are a few classes of _nobles_: plantation owners, spies for the Hulls, slave traders. Those of the highest classes live lavishly, I'm sure it pleases the Nameless One not just to keep salves but to implement a social system that reminds them of the disparity every day. Perhaps the Nameless One sent for clothes from them."

Maerad continued to flip through the clothes in the closet, digesting this information. In Gilman's Cot, there had been no such classes, only slaves and slave drivers who had been only recognizable because they carried weapons. The desperate poverty in which they lived was so similar to the slaves that sometimes it was difficult to see a difference.

"But why? Why bother cultivating such a complex system? It must cost him and his Hulls something to allow men to go free and navigate such a system. Wouldn't it be easier to have them all as slaves?"

Cadvan shrugged. "The system maintains itself and serves to intensify the drudgery of slavery, I think. The Hulls could turn slave master and spend their time managing the people, but why not let men _think_ they are masters and do their work for them?"

"The Bards will be slaves then?"

"It is our fate," Cadvan agreed. "I have no doubt the Nameless One plans to make all Bards a class of slave even lower than those he has now. You heard what he said, that he would use mine and Saliman's Gift so as to summon creatures of the Abyss? It is a costly practice, energetically demanding and time consuming, forcing the Bards to do it will free his Hulls to their pleasures, whatever those are."

They had once again slipped into dark talk and Maerad shook her head. "You'll be dressed fine, though," she said emptily, and pulled out a great black cloak. She tossed it about her shoulders playfully, but she was so short it pooled on the floor. "I see only one cloak and it's not fit for me. I guess Sharma has no intention of me traveling north again."

"We do not know where our paths will take us, Maerad." Cadvan grasped her by the shoulders and rubbed gently. "But mine will always bring me back to you." He placed one finger under her chin and lifted her lips up to his.

Warmth filled Maerad's stomach and spread down to her toes and fingers. She thought she must have been humming so loudly with happiness that Cadvan would hear it, but he didn't seem to notice. He slipped his hands beneath the cloak and wound his arms around her waist. She pressed against him, feeling the muscles under his shirt tense then relax, and her hands landed on his hips.

Cadvan was exercising considerable self-control as he kissed Maerad. Her robe and gown were damp and the fabric clung to her curves so that it seemed she was naked. When she moved against him, he could feel the rising and falling of her breasts as she breathed, and against his better judgment, he conceded to his desires. Carefully and none too quickly, he stepped forward so Maerad was pushed up against a wall and tangled one of his hands in her wet hair, tugging it back to expose her throat and chest.

_Gently now, _he warned himself, his other hand coming up to her rib cage, his thumb just below the curve of her breast.

Cadvan's hand caught up in her hair had forced Maerad's face upward so she was staring up into the vaulted ceiling. She could feel his lips on her chin, then her neck, and lower still to her shoulders. His breath was hot and Maerad imagined it was burning her, but she liked it and thought recklessly she wouldn't be ashamed the next day when her skin was raw red from it. When the pad of his thumb grazed her breast, she gasped like she'd been shocked. She felt his hesitation, sensed his concern through their mental connection, then his relaxation at her permittance. A shiver raced down her spine at his thumb lazily traced tantalizing circular patterns on her skin, and she was glad of the wall holding her in place against Cadvan because she would have twitched uncontrollably.

The warmth in Maerad's belly blossomed into something more, something that demanded an answering response and her hands on Cadvan's waist tightened so her fingers dug into his skin. She didn't know what she wanted Cadvan to do, but it had to be more, something to quench the aching in her body. Unconsciously, Maerad's hips began to move in the same lazy circles as Cadvan's thumb.

"By the Light, Maerad, you'd make a rake of an honest man," he breathed against her shoulders, utterly distracted by the rhythm of her hips. The voice in his mind that kept ordering him to go slowly and gently was being drowned out by the gasps of pleasure emanating from Maerad, and a wave of frustration washed over him in recognition of power she wielded. _He_ was supposed to be the experienced adult. _He _was supposed to guide her through the complexity of human desire. _He _had done this before.

Cadvan allowed his hand to creep up higher until the full weight of Maerad's breast was in his hand. When she didn't flinch away from it, he grazed his thumb over her nipple. Even through the robe he could feel it, and Maerad shuddered with pleasure. Cadvan smiled with the satisfaction of a man who knows he can bring a woman pleasure and resumed the circles, occasionally flicking his thumb against the tip of her nipple to elicit a small moan of desire.

_Better, much better. If you let her get the better of you it could go poorly. _He traded hands to attend her other breast but Maerad's face was still upturned. Instead, his free hand moved to the small of her back where he could push her more firmly against him. He thought he could slow the movement of her hips, if only to give himself a little relief, but Maerad arched against him and her hips pressed against his suddenly.

When Cadvan had begun to massage her breasts, Maerad thought the ache in her belly would go, but it only grew. When he grabbed her hips, she just thrust them harder against him. When he spoke in a husky whisper in her ear, she felt gooseflesh break out on her skin. She thought she had become a ball of yearning, nothing more than desire made flesh. Belatedly, she realized that she still didn't know what it was she wanted, but her blood was on fire with it and she required Cadvan. When she pushed her hips against his, she felt something firm through the folds of her robe and, curiously, her hand began to stray down.

"Maerad." Cadvan caught her wrist suddenly, putting the smallest amount of space between them. She looked up at him with eyes hazy with desire, a mouth still slightly parted from moaning, and Cadvan just barely managed to keep his grip on her wrist and her hand from him. "I don't think that's a good idea."

The space that had opened up between them was minute, but the heat between them was gone. She blinked suddenly coming back to her senses and flushed. _Idiot, you've no idea what your doing, playing at being a grown woman. _She looked away, embarrassed.

"I'm sorry?" It was a question, because Maerad had no idea what she had done, only that Cadvan had suddenly stopped kissing her, touching her, making her feel such burning joy.

"There's nothing to be sorry for," said Cadvan, raising her hand to lips, kissing it, then replacing it on his shoulder. "You've not done something wrong-far from it, to be honest. It's just that what you were doing was…" he trailed off, cursing his own inability to make sense of his emotions, and not a little embarrassed by his body's response.

"Was it wrong?"

"No!" Cadvan said quickly, catching her eye and smiling sheepishly. "Not wrong, just that I don't know if it was your intention."

Maerad smiled coyly and allowed her fingers to graze the back of his neck. "I like touching you."

"Perhaps, but that's a different sort of place," Cadvan said stiltedly, reveling in the feeling of her hands on the nape of is neck. "And I wouldn't want to make you uncomfortable."

Maerad raised an eyebrow. "Why? What would have happened?"

Cadvan couldn't bear her searching look and glanced away, flustered. "It's-well it's-very much like if I reached my hand up your skirt."

Maerad gasped, eyes gone wide, and immediately pulled her hands away from Cadvan. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to do that. I-I would never do something like that to you!"

Cadvan felt his mouth hanging open in confusion before he realized that the only familiarity Maerad would have with such a touch would be rape. _She thought she was assaulting me_. He laughed at the absurdity of the thought and drew her into a warm embrace. Maerad, in the circle of Cadvan's arms, stared up at him suspiciously.

"I don't understand," she said blankly.

"I can see that," Cadvan said kindly, and gestured to the bed. Maerad allowed him to lead her to the bed and they sat side by side. Cadvan's face was shadowed in thought for a few moments while he tried to find the right words for Maerad. Finally, he faced her with a serious look. "It's not that it would have been wrong for you to touch me there, only if I had told you no and you persisted. The same is true of you. This is perhaps a conversation we should have had before I lost my head around you."

Maerad stared down at her hands. "You didn't lose your head."

He gave her an ironic look. "Perhaps not entirely, but I certainly was careless with you. Do you understand what consent means between two adults in a romantic relationship?"

Consent, Maerad knew, meant to give permission, though in the context of what Cadvan had asked, she floundered. "I agree to be your lover?"

"Yes, but it's not a blanket statement," Cadvan said softly. "It doesn't mean that you have agreed to be my lover, so I may do anything I want with you."

"Of course not," Maerad said at once. "That's not love, it's-"

"Abusive, at the very least. Consent is a conversation, not a binding contract. For everything we do with each other, we must both agree to it." Cadvan sensed her embarrassment and smiled crookedly at her. "If you'd had a mind to, I would have let you continue what you were doing, but I think you don't completely understand what it is you would have done. And I fear I my response might have scared you, so I stopped you."

"But you liked it?" Maerad pressed. "I don't understand, you said it was like reaching up my skirt."

Cadvan sighed. This was a far more complicated discussion than he was sure he was ready to have. "I think I am correct in assuming you're only knowledge of men comes from what you saw in Gilman's Cot? And there, I would imagine you had no desire to be touched by a man."

"Never," Maerad said, her few and bitter memories of the men flashing before her eyes.

"But me?" Cadvan asked gently, staring into her eyes.

"But, you're different! You're not like the men in the cot, you wouldn't hurt me." She considered what had brought them to this moment, the sacrifices Cadvan had made to ensure her safety. No, he wouldn't hurt her.

"Maerad, I am not going to do anything to you unless you tell me I can," Cadvan said starkly. "But, I would hope that you trust me more than those men, and should you _desire _to be touched in that way, I hope you trust me to do it without hurting you."

Maerad found that her mouth was dry. Her instincts for survival and her memories of the creature of pure yearning she had become were at odds with each other. She trusted Cadvan, she feared male desire, but she had _wanted_ him to touch her. "I don't know," she finally whispered. "I believe you when you tell me that you would never hurt me. I suppose it's that I can't imagine anyone would _want _to be touched how you say, and yet…you said you would enjoy it."

Cadvan had expected as much and wished that Silvia were here to explain female desire to Maerad. He doubted his words would do much to soothe her. "I would enjoy it only if you wanted to do that. I would never ask you to do something you were uncomfortable with."

Though the sensation in her belly was long gone, Maerad tried to remember what it felt like. "And if I asked you to do something similar to me?"

Cadvan's eyebrows shot up. "Then I would, but I would stop if you told me to."

Maerad bit her lip. "I like to touch you, and I liked when you touched me." Cadvan allowed himself the smallest smile, which Maerad saw and rolled her eyes. "I guess I just don't know how far I would allow that touching to go."

"That's as it should be," Cadvan said empathetically. "You are young, and these are complicated waters even for old Bards like me. We are all different and we all want different things from our partners. Over time, you learn what you like, and you learn what your partner likes and whether you're willing to give it. It's not a bad thing, to not know, it's part of learning who you are."

Maerad ducked her face so Cadvan couldn't see the faint blush lingering in her cheeks. "What if it takes a long time?"

Personally, given Maerad's response to him that night, he doubted it would take her that long to learn of her own sexuality, but he smiled warmly all the same. "You speak as if I have somewhere else to be."

Maerad laughed, looking sideways at him. "Then tell me, old Bard Cadvan, what is it you like?"

His eyes got a little wider and he struggled to find words for a moment. "I think that'll be a conversation for a different night."

"I'll hold you to that promise," she said sternly. Though she didn't say it, a faint curiosity had taken hold of her. What _did_ Cadvan like? Could she make him feel the same insatiable aching he'd induced in her? She felt a thrill of power at the knowledge that when it came to carnal activities, women need not be helpless to male desire.

Cadvan held up his hands. "Maerad, believe me, there is nothing I would like more than to explore those particular fantasies with you, but I think it will all be in good time."

Now that that her blood wasn't boiling and her heart not thundering in her chest, a wave of exhaustion washed over Maerad. She slumped a little on the bed and noticed for the first time that Cadvan was there with her. They were not _in bed _together, but he was quite close, resting his weight back on his hands, considering the intricate design on the hearth of the fire.

_You trust him, you sill girl, _she realized. She smiled at him uncertainly and Cadvan returned it with a roguish wink.

"Well, I must be up early, Maerad," he said pleasantly. "As much as I'd like to stay up and watch the sun come in with you, I think it's better I'm rested if I'm to ride under the unforgiving eyes oh Hulls." He stood and stretched, considering the two chairs in the room, but deciding the couch might be better.

"Wait." Maerad's hand shot out and caught his wrist. Cadvan looked down at her hand gripping his tightly. "Stay with me."

Cadvan glanced up at her face, taking the measure of her. He knew this was not an invitation to lovemaking, merely sharing each other's warmth and comfort, but Maerad was still a novice where the bedroom was concerned. He didn't want to accept such an invitation if Maerad didn't understand what it meant.

"Are you sure-"

"Cadvan, I slept by your side the entire way here. For the Light's sake, you've seen me naked. I want you to stay with me tonight, and tomorrow, I'll help you pack and then see you off."

Maerad was surprised to see Cadvan smile shyly before nodding his head. "Let me wash, then, and change into something more comfortable, then I'll join you."

Maerad was exhilarated by her own daring and more than a little flattered by Cadvan's boyish smile. While he bathed and changed, Maerad slipped out of the cloak, discarded the robe, and wrapped herself under one of the thick blankets on the bed, waiting and wondering vaguely if she shouldn't try to position herself to look like the paintings of lovely women trapped in sleep, their long hair draped dramatically over their arms. After trying, and failing, to get her hair to lay perfectly in the dip of her hip, she sighed and tossed her hair angrily.

"Perhaps you ought to cut it?" Cadvan had returned then and chuckled amicably. Though Maerad didn't know it, Cadvan thought she'd never looked move lovely than right then: the pale grey shift flowing over her curves like water, her hair dappled white in the moon light, and her face like a moonstone set with two sapphires. He was reminded forcefully of Ardina and even as he climbed carefully into the bed couldn't repress his own shock at finding himself there. This was the descendent of _Ardina_, a Bard with Edilhu blood in her veins, she was the farthest thing from a proper Bard Cadvan knew, and the idea both terrified and excited him.

"I like it long," Maerad said softly, vanishing under the blankets, "it just gets in the way sometimes." She rolled over to find Cadvan laying on his back a safe distance away, one of his hands rested under his head, the other on his chest, and his face was looking up at the canopy above the bed.

_He's waiting for you, _she thought. Of course, he was. He'd just given her the longest lecture on not pushing her, on waiting for her to give him permission. She knew she would have to be the one to close the distance.

Maerad was right that Cadvan was giving her space to get comfortable around him, and was surprised when she immediately crawled across the bed to snuggle against his side. He hummed with pleasure at her nearness and lowered his arm to wrap around her waist. She melted against him, fitting the contours of his body perfectly. Idly, he wrapped a strand of her long hair around his fingers and played with it.

"Didn't you say your mother braided it for you? I know how to braid, though it's been a long time since I've practiced." Cadvan thought of his sisters, one of whom was still alive though very old.

"And so, I'll have a rat's nest on my head if I let you?" she snorted.

"Not a nest, just a bed," Cadvan amended.

"I'm more likely to put my faith in Saliman," she said thoughtfully.

"You're a cruel woman to say that," Cadvan said dramatically, and rolled on his side so Maerad was tucked in the curve of his body. "When I return, I'll have to think of some way of punishing you for it."

"You'd have to catch me first," Maerad said dreamily. "I'll know the passages of the tower by the time you return and run you a wild chase if you tried."

"Now that is a story that deserves a song. Maybe two." Cadvan's eyes were growing heavy, and the last thing he saw as he looked down was Maerad curled up against him, her hair spread out over her vivid face, and her little hands clinging to his chest. No, she wasn't Ardina, she was at once more vital and more innocent than the Edilhu. She was a perfect flower, a lovely woman, and entirely wild. Cadvan's squeezed her just a little tighter against him hoping to memorize the curves of her body, and she sighed with pleasure.


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen

Cadvan woke to the gentle knocking on his door but was loathe to move. Maerad's warm body was snuggled against him, fitting his contours, and one of his arms was wrapped around her protectively. He inhaled the scent of her, wet spring grass and some other floral aroma he couldn't place, and buried his face deeper in her hair. The knock came louder and Maerad stirred.

"Is it time already?" she asked hazily. "Already morning?"

"Stay in bed," Cadvan said tiredly, and placed a kiss on her cheek. "I'll gather my things and wake you when I'm about to leave." Maerad rolled over when he got up, moving into the place where his body had been, soaking in the warmth. Twilight still painted the sky black and the sky and stars hung in the distance. Her eyes followed Cadvan as he moved stiffly around the room. In the low light of the banked fire, she could see the shape of him as he changed clothes, packed a sizable pile of shirts and pants and socks, and donned boots and his cloak. When he turned to face her again, the sky outside was pale blue and she could see his face properly now.

He held out a thick robe to her. "Quickly. I'll need to go down soon and I won't parade you around this castle naked a second time."

Maerad slithered out from under the covers and Cadvan draped the robe over her, tugging it closed and tying the belt himself. "I'm a grown woman, you know?" she asked, but there was no bite to it. It felt good to have his hands on her.

Cadvan took her face in his hands and kissed her firmly on the lips. She slipped her hands around his waist like he had done to her the previous night, hooking her fingers on his belt, and jerked him a step closer. Cadvan had to fight the urge to take her back to the bed and managed to break the kiss after a bit. He skimmed his hands over the curve of her hip, the gentle slope of her waist and all the way up her ribcage to her chest, then kissed the top of her head.

"I will think of you each night," he said into her hair. "I will think of this morning, waking up to you."

"Just come back," Maerad murmured, and the raw longing in her voice cut Cadvan to his heart. "Sooner, if you can."

"Nothing will hurt you, I give you my word. I'll make sure the Nameless One has no reason to harm you." He didn't give a thought to what that might entail, and in his arms, Maerad bowed her head against hist chest.

"I am not afraid of what he'll do to me, Cadvan. I am afraid of being alone at night without you." She hadn't realized until that moment how painful it would be to be parted from him again. It wasn't as awful as their fight in the north when she thought him dead, but it was terrible loneliness all the same.

"You'll have Hem," Cadvan said a little forlornly. "The two of you must stay close. If the Nameless One can separate you, I fear what he'll do."

"I'm not letting Hem out of my sight," Maerad said firmly.

_I'm hoping he keeps you in his, _Cadvan thought selfishly. He knew Maerad was made of sterner stuff than she appeared, but he didn't believe for a moment that she could survive in Dagra alone.

"Come," Cadvan said regretfully. "Saliman will be waiting."

They passed like shadows through the cavernous sitting room lit only by the dying embers of the previous night's fire. Maerad had a brief image of herself seated before it, Cadvan kissing her, before they slipped through the door into the hall beyond. Saliman was indeed waiting; Hem was at his side looking upset. Saliman had the good grace not to stare at Maerad's state of undress and instead smiled ironically at Cadvan.

"And good morning to you," he said with hollow cheerfulness. "What a fine day to start an adventure."

"And such good company," Cadvan returned in the same tone. "I trust our companions are outside preparing to leave?"

"Shall we see?" Saliman looked a little uneasy at this as he did not relish the thought of riding days and nights with only Hulls as his companions.

Maerad and Cadvan has been unconscious when they were brought into the Dark Tower, so Saliman led the way with his unerring Bard memory. They went down many flights of stairs, past dark passages that vanished into nothingness, though halls with heavy, chained doors behind which they suspected prisoners were held, and by innumerous paned windows that gave a dismal view of the surrounding city. They had just reached a final sweeping stair and at its base, they could see a tiled floor, covered in a mosaic of flames burning up around an unlidded eye. Beyond the hall, there was a pair of huge double doors that stretched up almost twenty feet. They were locked, with bars driven into the floor, covered in heavy metal beams that supported what must have been tones of weight, and inlaid with runes in the Black Speech. Maerad glanced at the runes once and felt nausea rise up in her stomach: the doors were spelled and could not be opened without magery.

_There is no way out, _she thought bitterly. _Only Sharma and his Hulls can open those doors. _

Cadvan heaved a heavy sigh and took the first step on the stair, Maerad right behind him, hurried to close the space between them, but was thrown back an unseen force. She flew a few feet and landed in a pile of robes on the stone floor. Cadvan rushed back up the stairs, but Hem curiously prodded the air before him. When he did, he felt a pulse of magery and caught a faint red glow on the stairs and walls. There was a charm on the stairs, some magic the Nameless One had worked so that only those he allowed could pass back and forth between the barrier. Clearly, Hem and Maerad were not meant to leave his tower.

"There's a charm here to repel anyone from leaving," Hem said, turning around. Cadvan was fretfully checking Maerad over for injuries but there were none. Hem couldn't help but notice the way his hands moved over his sister, the firm grip he took when he felt her arms, her shoulders, her neck. He glanced at Saliman, wondering if he too noticed, and found that Saliman was smiling a little.

"Then Hem and I must stay here," said Maerad, waving Cadvan off with an irritable look. "We must say our goodbyes now."

Hem frowned. "I don't like this. The last time we were parted, I almost died," he said to Saliman. "And you've almost lost your life on more than one occasion."

"Cadvan may not be as good a protector as you, but I'm sure he'll see me through this unscathed," Saliman said with a wink in Cadvan's direction. "Won't you, Cadvan?"

"I give you my word, Hem, that I'll bring him back to you." Cadvan nodded to Hem gravely, but the young Bard thought they were teasing him.

"In one piece, please," he said testily. "And no scars, if possible."

"I take offense to that," Cadvan said cheerfully. "You two Pellinor Bards had better be one piece when we return."

"Irc won't forgive me if I bring him back and you're unwell," Saliman added, wondering where the troublesome crow had gotten to.

Hem flashed him a sudden, reckless smile. "Tell him I'm very sorry I couldn't come get him myself. I've missed him."

"He knows, Hem," said Saliman, but his voice was very quiet, and Hem thought Saliman was speaking of more than just Irc. Quite abruptly, Saliman drew Hem into a warm embrace, rubbing his back and speaking into his hair. "Be careful here, Hem. I know you fear for me in war, but I'd be mistaken if I said I didn't worry for you here. Do _not _give the Nameless One reason to hurt you. Keep your wits about you, don't worry about me. Protect your sister."

Hem could feel the tears welling in his eyes, but he pushed them down and took a step back from Saliman. "Nothing will stop me from greeting you on these stairs when you return," he said proudly. In that moment, Saliman saw a glimpse of the man Hem would become: tall, unbent, proud and fearless. This darkness had not destroyed him, it had only fashioned him into a stronger man. He wanted to tell Hem how proud he was of him, that he thought of the boy as his son, but here, on the very steps of the Dark Tower didn't see the proper place. Instead, he gripped his shoulder firmly.

"I'll see you soon, Hem. I swear on the Light that we will be reunited."

_Riik_, he added, allowing his consciousness to sweep over Hem's.

_Arundulan, _Hem responded, smiling grimly.

They both turned and were rather shocked to find that Cadvan had gathered Maerad up in his arms and was kissing her. Hem blushed and looking away awkwardly, but Saliman rolled his eyes. _Cadvan always was dramatic, _he said to the boy. _Your sister shouldn't let him act on so. It just strokes his ego. _

Hem snorted in laughter and Cadvan and Maerad broke apart. Saliman approached Maerad with a brief bow. "Maerad, I promise to get this man back to you."

"I'll sleep a little better knowing you're with him," she said, and then hugged him tightly. "Be safe."

Cadvan wasn't quite sure what to say to Hem, but, to the boy's credit, he stepped forward with a brave smile and held out his hand. Cadvan took it tightly. "I've seen you fight enough times to know no Hull will get the better of you, but all the same, stay safe."

Cadvan nodded thoughtfully. "Stay close to your sister. I don't like the thought of you two apart in this place. And be careful, Hem."

The Bards parted and stood across from each other, the older Bards looking proudly on their younger charges. None were sure who was the worse off: two going to watch a war or two left behind under the unforgiving eyes of the Nameless One, but all knew they would rather be together than apart. Maerad broke the spell when she picked up Cadvan's pack and offered it to him.

"I don't think this will be a long campaign," Cadvan said solemnly. "We'll be back soon."

"And we'll be waiting," Maerad finished with a flash of a challenge in her eyes. Cadvan had no doubt Maerad would indeed be here waiting for him when he returned.

Saliman took his own things from Hem and he and Cadvan stepped over the barrier and turned away, heading for the doors. Maerad and Hem watched as the runes on the door glowed and a shiver of magery ran through the air making the marks on the stair glow, then the doors opened and on the other side stood Ignalt, smirking all over his face. He said something to Saliman and Cadvan, but they couldn't hear what, and the two Bards stepped through the doors. Both simultaneously looked back once more, caught Maerad and Hem's eyes and bowed their heads, then the doors closed and they were gone.

Maerad took Hem's hand in her own and held it fast. They stared at the doors for a long time, both wishing they would open and permit Saliman and Cadvan back in. But they didn't. Maerad was regretting the previous night, wishing she had stayed up and watched Cadvan sleep and thinking of her empty room and big bed.

"The bedroom!" she gasped suddenly. "Quickly, Hem, there's a window in my room that overlooks the courtyard and the gates. We'll be able to see Cadvan and Saliman."

The two Bards set off in a mad dash, racing back up and stairs, down the halls, through the doors until they skidded to a halt before Maerad's room. They threw the doors so hard that they banged off the walls and raced to the bedroom, completely oblivious to the figure seated on an armchair, gazing at the crackling fire. Maerad heaved one of the chairs from the fire in her room to the window and she and Hem scrabbled up it.

Below them, the courtyard was a riot of movement. Hulls, each with a small retinue of slaves, were mounting their horses, checking their packs and whipping the unfortunate souls too close to avoid being struck. Dust flew up, clouding the vision of the watching Bards, but they had keen eyes of their kind, and their searching gaze found Cadvan and Saliman off to one side, shaded by the imposing walls that surrounded the tower. Maerad felt her heart burst when she saw Cadvan lean down in his saddle, brush some stray hairs away from his ear, and whisper something to Darsor, who tossed his head. She closed her eyes, trying to lay the image to memory. Saliman at his side rode Minna, his tidy mare, who was skittering sideways from the Hull's mount. Saliman was petting her neck, whispering what must have been soothing words to the horse. Hem laughed a little to himself.

A horn blast echoed through the yard and the Hulls fell into ranks. Maerad and Hem looked on as the Hulls that must have been Ignalt approached Cadvan and Saliman. He said something, to which Saliman responded, and the Hull struck him upside the head. Hem snorted smugly. Cadvan and Saliman were flanked on either side by Hulls, and when the next trumpet blast came, they set off.

Maerad and Hem watched until the tiny figures of Saliman and Cadvan vanished in the plumes of dust kicked up by the horses, and even then, they watched the horde disappear. A burning ache was already growing in Maerad's heart, and she wished fervently that she could have sat on Darsor's back, clinging to Cadvan as they rode north. Long after the gates had closed, Maerad and Hem slunk off the chair and into the bedroom, staring around morosely.

They left the bedroom, wondering now where they were supposed to go and feeling oddly bereft. Maerad was about to suggest that she and Hem sit together and tell stories of their travels, when a breeze rattled the windowpanes and the torches on the wall flickered. They both stared around the room, fully aware of what that breeze meant, and saw the figure of Sharma, sitting in a position of repose in a great armchair before the fire. His eyes were half-lidded, examining the two young Bards with keen interest. He smiled slowly, displaying a mouth of very sharp, pointed teeth.

"Hello, my little Bards." He breathed in deeply, smelling fear on the air. It excited him. "I thought now that those troublesome mentors of yours are out of the way, the three of us could have a nice chat about your new _responsibilities_."

Maerad moved automatically to put herself between Hem and Sharma, but, as he was already trying to do the same, they bumped against each other. Sharma smiled widely at their display, enjoying the sensation of their fear. He leaned back, waiting patiently until Maerad found her voice.

"What responsibilities?" she asked caustically. "I was under the impression we were to wait here while the Bards you deemed useful were to go forth and do your bidding."

"I never said you were useless." Sharma's dark eyes moved from Maerad's frown to Hem concerned face. They put on a good front, he had to admit, neither of them _looked _afraid, but he could smell it on them. "I know it must be difficult to watch your loved ones leave you, and I sympathize with your situation, but I can't allow you two to just laze around my tower. The slaves will talk."

Maerad bared her teeth in a snarl and her desire to have fangs and claws returned. "You wouldn't know sympathy if it bit you in the face."

"You're probably right about that. But I know an enemy when I see one, and I know how to punish them too." The smile fell away and Maerad felt, for the first time since coming there, that she was truly defenseless. She realized that since her arrival, Cadvan had been there, serving almost as a buffer against Sharma's fury. Now that he was gone and Maerad was faced with him alone, she sensed the relentless, malevolent creature that he was. His anger, directed completely at her, was overwhelming.

"You've flouted my authority in my own domain for too long. You both hid behind the Song, then you hid behind your mentors, but both are gone now and there must be reckoning. No more mocking my orders, no more speaking out against me, no more challenging my will. By the time those Bards of yours are back, you _will _obey me."

Maerad's mouth had done dry, but she found her voice. "You swore not to harm us."

"You'll find, mistress Maerad, that I am quite adept at turning my oaths to my purposes." His eyes moved to Hem. "Besides, my promise to Cadvan was for your safety, not your brother, and even then, it is contingent on his loyalty."

Hem's stomach turned but he kept his face neutral. "You are truly forsaken from the Light if you're plan for revenge is to turn Cadvan's words against him."

"If the Light has forsook anyone, you'll find it's you and your sister," he answered, smartly. "I've thought it over at some length, how best to repay you both for the grief you caused me. I won't lie to you either, I hoped you both would have died I the Singing. I wanted to wake with the power of the Song singing in my blood and find your corpses strewn on the ground, I wanted you to die in agony. But, you didn't." His hands gripped each other tightly, his face pushed forward on his neck. "So now, I must find a new use for you. What do we do?"

"You were quite the dilemma. If I were going to use you, how best could I put you to use while exacting the most revenge? How could I make you pay for your crimes?" He inhaled deeply, shaking his head. "I thought long on it, but I think I finally have a way forward."

"By all means, don't keep us waiting. I don't think I can bear the anticipation," said Hem sarcastically.

Sharma laughed at that, though the laughter didn't reach his eyes. "You always make me laugh, Cai. It's so refreshing to keep you around, it simply _brightens _my day. So, I think it's only fair, given your penchant for jokes, that I'll keep you at my side as a clown." Sharma waved his hand in a circular motion in mid-air then held his palm flat. Above his hand a collar appeared as if made of air and floated down into his palm. He eyed the craftsmanship shrewdly. "I had this made especially for you, Cai. I'm told you're already used to such things, though this is far finer make than a rope."

Hem looked at the collar, repulsed. It was made of iron and engraved into the outer plate were markings in the Black Speech. When Sharma held it out for him, Hem recoiled. "I'm not a dog."

"You're whatever I tell you to be. Now, show me your neck." When Hem didn't move, Sharma frowned. "Either come here, or I'll lock you in my dungeon until Saliman returns, and when he does, I'll feed him acid from the dog soldiers."

Hem gasped at the casually cruelty but didn't doubt his words. He inched closer to Sharma though Maerad scrabbled at his sleeve. When he was within arm's reach, Sharma gestured grandly to the floor, and Hem stared at him blandly.

"Kneel, boy, and show me your neck."

This close to Sharma, Hem could smell blood and the tangy scent of magery: it was like metal and coal, and it made his stomach ache. He sank unsteadily to his knees but didn't want to expose his neck to Sharma. With a sigh of impatience, Sharma pressed Hem's head down so his hair parted and revealed the back of his neck. Sharma ran the tip of his finger down Hem's spine and he shivered.

"You look like your father," he said contemplatively. "You'll surely grown up to resemble him. Perhaps it is fortunate he is dead, though, so he does not have to bear the shame of seeing his own blood made a fool, a dancing bear."

Hem couldn't think of words to respond, and instead, Sharma snapped the collar open. Hem felt the cold metal closing around his throat and he had a brief thought that it would be too tight, that Sharma was actually going to suffocate him, but then the collar closed and he could breathe. Sharma said something in the Black Speech that Hem didn't understand, but he felt a grinding at the base of his neck: hidden gears in the collar locking in place. It was uncomfortably tight, though not so much that he couldn't breathe or speak, and heavy.

Sharma used his knuckle to lift Hem's chin up so he could look into his face. "How handsome you look with your collar, Cai. But be forewarned: do not anger me, the iron can get terribly hot."

Hem wanted to look away from the dark eyes, but something in him refused to turn. Sharma smirked, as if he understood what was going through Hem's mind. "I should have had your name engraved on it. Oh well, this will just have to suit. What do you think, Maerad? How does your brother look?"

"I hate you," she hissed.

"Apparently, Maerad thinks it doesn't do you justice," Sharma said indifferently. "I suppose some people are just impossible to please."

"And of me?" Maerad challenged, sounding far braver than she felt. "What will I be? Your maid?"

Sharma stared at her for a moment, his dark eyes flashing with unveiled hatred. "No. I thought of something far better for the wench who tried to kill me. You see, I was quite frustrated with you, Maerad, not just because you tried to murder me, but because you couldn't even seduce that Bard of yours properly."

Maerad opened her mouth to respond, but Sharma held up his hand. "Do you really think I would allow Cadvan to keep the woman he loved if I didn't think there was something to gain? He needs to be brought low, to give in to his most selfish, darkest desires. Only then is he mine. And I thought, what better way to do that then to dangle before his eyes the woman he desired. I saw his heart, I saw his mind, I saw all the things he wanted to do with you. But when he finally had the chance-nothing. What a waste of an oath I made." He leaned forward, eyes darting all over her face. "My Hulls striped you naked before him and still he did not take you. But why? Then I knew…then I saw what you really were to him. Innocent."

He gnashed his teeth like the word was a curse. "He sees only your purity, only your light. But that's not what you are, are you? You're the one who convinced him to trade his freedom for you. You promised him your body if he swore to protect you."

"I didn't promise him my body-"

"That's _exactly _what you did!" Sharma spat venomously. "He can have you, so long as he protects you. Then I understood the problem: he thinks you're a poor, innocent, defenseless girl, but you're really a _whore_."

Maerad clenched her fist. "I didn't sell myself."

"Only because you lack the skills of your trade," Sharma sniggered. "So, we'll have to fix that, won't we?"

Maerad didn't like the sound of his words. She glanced nervously to Hem, who was glaring at Sharma. "My sister isn't a whore," he said obstinately.

"Oh, yes she is. Like mother, like daughter." He smiled toothily. "Milana was a slut, too. Your mother went to bed with a Pilanel, and you-" Here he laughed out loud, snapping his fingers at her "-you laid back for a cobbler's son. What fine women the House of Karn makes. I expect no better with that Elidhu blood, though. Ardina was an animal who laid with a mortal in the dirt and leaves, it is no surprise her daughters spread their legs for anyone."

Maerad flushed. The dig at her mother was vulgar enough, but what right did Sharma have to mock Ardina? "You're just jealous of her!" she snarled before she could stop herself. "Ardina is an immortal-a _true_ immortal-and you'll never be that no matter what spells you weave. That's why you stole the Song from the Elidhu, because you were jealous of them."

An ugly look contorted Sharma's handsome face. "I care not what some little whore thinks."

"I'm not a whore!"

"You will be." Sharma stood up suddenly, and a gust of air issued from him, sending Maerad stumbling back. She landed heavily on her back and the air rushed from her lungs. "I'm sending you to one of the finest brothels in all of Dagra to be apprenticed to a prostitute. There you will stay until Cadvan returns, at which time, your services will be needed here."

_Brothel._ The word barely had meaning to Maerad. It was not something common in Bard culture, and for all her harsh upbringing in Gilman's Cot, there had been no such thing as a brothel. She saw Hem's face go white, though, and felt her heart beating faster.

"No, no Cadvan swore-"

"No man might touch you, yes, yes, I remember." Sharma seemed particularly unhappy with this arrangement. "And I'll certainly tell the madam that you're to remain a maid…if, of course, you still _are _a maid." His eyes glittered. "If you've already allowed Cadvan such pleasures, then whose to say how many men had you while you were there? I certainly won't be asking."

It seemed like a void was opening up before Maerad and she didn't know how to close it. Her heart was beating faster, her breath coming in small gasps. It was the first time since coming to Dagra that she contemplated begging. Would it work if she tried? No, those merciless laughing eyes were telling her no.

"I'd advise you behave yourself while you're gone," he said sweetly, and made a sharp waving gesture. Hem stumbled across the room, landing on his knees beside Maerad. "I'll have your brother here, and should I hear of any _problems _Cai will be the first to know."

"No, leave him be!"

"What a marvelous end to the House of Karn, the _great _Pellinor Bards who tried to stop me. Mark my words, little Bards, I shall make it known across the land just what you amounted to. In the history of Annar and seven kingdoms it will be written that the prophesied saviors of the Light came to be no more than a jester and a whore."

He looked between the two of them, preening under their terrified gaze. "Cai, come, you'll stay with me. Maerad, you leave tonight."

Sharma turned to go, and though Hem scrambled to her side, he felt the irresistible tug of the collar: Sharma's command made flesh. "I'll be fine, Maerad, but promise me you'll be careful. No matter what, don't let them sell you-"

It was too much, too fast. Maerad shook her head frantically. "It'll be okay, it won't be longer than a month or two at most. I'll be fine, remember Cadvan's oath."

Hem could feel the heat in his cheeks, wondering if he dared push the question with his sister. "But, Maerad, what if they think you're not a maid?"

"They won't," was all Maerad could say before Sharma made the jerking motion again and Hem was thrown across the room. She watched him go, thinking of Cadvan's warning to stay close to her brother. "They won't."

* * *

When the doors had closed and Cadvan and Saliman found themselves out of the Dark Tower, there was fleeting moment of exhalation. Escape from the Dark Tower! The sun on their faces, the wind in their hair, the overwhelming sense of oppression already lifting. Cadvan's muscles quivered with repressed energy and he wondered if he could run. Saliman's heart lightened considerably and his thoughts turned immediately to Hekibel and how soon he could see her. But Ignalt's voice sliced through their joy like a razor.

"And why are you two smiling like idiots?" Ignalt asked, looking between their faces. "Think you that this brief respite from the Dark Tower is freedom? Think again. I will personally make sure you don't forget the pleasures of the Dark while we travel."

Cadvan scowled, but knew the Hull was right. The Nameless One would not send them on this journey unless he knew it would make them suffer. "You have become so commonplace in my life that I think I might actually miss you."

"The feeling isn't mutual," Ignalt snapped, eyeing Cadvan with a measure of dislike. "Get your horses ready, we leave in the hour."

Neither of them knew where the stable was, but Saliman stopped a young man running around with water and kindly asked him where horses were kept. The man-who must have been a slave-was startled to be treated so gently and gaped at the sight of two men who didn't radiate the same dark energy as the Hulls. He pointed shakily in the direction of a large building where the stables were housed before flinching at the call of his master and skittering away.

"This trip will go hard on me," Saliman said as he watched the man run. "I do not like slavery."

"We could lead a revolt?" Cadvan offered as they entered the stables.

It was madness inside. Slaves were running here and there, shoeing horses, tightening girths, coaxing others to take the bit. There were no Hulls, and Cadvan and Saliman suspected that if one entered the stables the horses would go mad with fear and disgust. As they went, they passed a bay stallion that was throwing its body against the wall, trying to evade the slave that was holding out a lead. It whinnied in dread and sweat and blood streaked its coat. A terrible pity for the horse welled in Cadvan and he approached the creature, hands raised.

_Peace, brave one, peace, _he said. The slave that was holding the lead gaped at Cadvan, letting him pass. _You're going to hurt yourself._

_ Better I die, _the horse snorted, pawing the ground in terror. _I cannot carry one of those creatures. I cannot suffer their malice._

Cadvan placed a hand on the horse's flank and felt its body thrumming with petrified energy. _How did you come to be here?_

The horse's ear's flicked forward. _I lived in the most glorious stables, surrounded by buildings of white stone. I grazed in fields of damp, green grass and all around me were people like you. They spoke in the horse-tongue and fed me sweet apples and cool water from the mountains._

"It must have been one of the southern Schools," said Saliman sadly. "The cities were raided by the armies of the Dark. I completely forgot the horses."

Cadvan nodded. _Yet, you have prevailed so long against the Dark. You are stronger than they are._

The horse eyed Cadvan and Saliman keenly. _You are like me. You have been taken from your homes to this miserable place. You know my pain._

_ We do, _Cadvan said and Saliman bowed his head. _But we must be brave for those we love. You may yet run free in your grassy plains again._

The stallion tossed its head and allowed the slave to come near. _I will not die in this place._

Cadvan ran his hands through the horse's mane. _"No, brave one, I don't think you will."_

Saliman and Cadvan continued on, looking for their own mounts, and found Darsor and Minna tucked in the back away from most of the other horses. At first, Cadvan wondered why they had been kept apart, but the closer he got, the more he understood the distance. Both horses were snorting and bucking and pawing at the ground obstinately. When one slave got too near, Darsor threw back his head and whinnied so loudly that the slave fell back. His eyes were furious and burned with fire.

_Darsor,_ Cadvan said, running forward. He smiled unashamedly, leaning on the stall door. _Braveheart._

Darsor's ear twitched when he heard Cadvan, and when he darted forward to hang on the door, Darsor strained forward, snuffling at him. _You are alive! _He did a small sort of jump, landing heavily but evenly on his four legs. _I missed you dearly, my friend. I thought I would never see you again._

Cadvan swung himself over the stall door and saw at once why Darsor hadn't come forward to greet him: someone had run a length of chain around each of his hooves so tightly they dug into the soft flesh and left open, bleeding wounds. Cadvan dropped to his knees immediately, running his fingers gingerly over the injuries.

_Who did this to you?_ he asked, looking up at Darsor with a face full of sorrow.

_The Dark creatures that infest this land did not appreciate my temper, _Darsor said, lifting one hoof for inspection. _They would have fed me to their hounds, but the Nameless monster in the tower stopped them. Instead, I was moved here, away from the other horses so I could not cause strife._

_ Rebel, _Cadvan laughed sadly. He stood up and rested his forehead against Darsor's, running his hands over his neck. _You swore to stomp these beasts to death. They feared you for it._

_ With good sense. I still might if given the chance. _Darsor nuzzled Cadvan's neck in a strikingly affectionate gesture. _Where is the little one? Where is Maerad? Has she been hurt?_

_ No, Maerad is safe, _Cadvan said softly, basking in the warmth that emanated from Darsor's body. _But the Nameless One does not permit her to leave his tower. She will remain behind while we ride out._

_ You are sure she is safe?_

Cadvan pulled back to catch Darsor's eye. He wondered how the stallion might take to his change of loyalty. _I have made sure she is safe, though I fear you will love me less once you learn how._

Darsor lifted his head high. _I have trusted you many years, my friend. What could you have done I would not forgive?_

_ "I have given myself to the Nameless One," _he said hollowly, turning his wrist up to show the brand there. _I have sworn to serve him and given him my Name. In exchange, he has promised not to hurt Maerad._

_ This news goes hard for me. I had spent all the time in this stable thinking that I would carry you and Maerad to safety. I thought you would break my chains and I would run us into the night so far and fast no beast of the Dark could even hope to catch us. Now you tell me you are sworn to his service and wait on his pleasure? _Darsor bowed his head.

_ I understand,_ said Cadvan awkwardly, _if you do not wish to carry me anymore._

At that, Darsor looked up and his eyes flashed like hard diamonds. _You are still my friend, and I think you did this dark thing out of a deep love. I will carry you no matter where. I think now, we ride to war, yes?_

_ I'm afraid so._ Cadvan couldn't express the gratitude he felt at Darsor's acceptance of his betrayal. He had worried that horse would refuse him, and though he could have ridden another, that hurt would have gone deep. _We march on Lirigon and Innail._

Darsor threw his head back and cried out. _To see the beautiful halls and towers of Innail burned will break my heart, Cadvan._

_ And mine, _he admitted. _But our friends are there, and they will need us to protect them from the Hulls. If we ride into battle, we may find them before the Hulls do._

Darsor tossed his mane furiously and stomped his hooves so that the chains rattled. _If ever we are free again, Cadvan, I swear that I will run these Hulls into the ground. I will break their bodies below my hooves and dance on their corpses._

_ I would join you, _Cadvan said darkly. _For now, though, we must prepare to ride. _He had found a saddle and had hefted it into the stall and was about to brush Darsor down when he saw an ugly, jagged lash on his left hip. Cadvan stared in utter horror. Darsor was a descendent of Lanogrim, a lord of horses, and some careless Hull had taken a whip to him. _Who did this to you?_ he demanded, stroking the horse's back in sympathy. _Who would raise a whip to you?_

_ Who did to you? _he responded smartly, nosing at Cadvan's whiplashes. _Some Hull who thought to scare me into obedience. But I wouldn't be cowed, so they chained me._

Cadvan cursed. _That is one Hull we will find before all this over and see him punished._

Darsor whinnied with pleasure and munched greedily on hay while Cadvan brushed his coat and fixed the saddle. Saliman seemed to be having a similar conversation with his mare, who had greeted him with much neighing, and snorting and nuzzling of his neck and face. He was stroking her back while she nosed at hay and turned to face Cadvan.

"Small respite from the Dark, I know, but I love this mare dearly for it," he said, grinning foolishly at the horse.

Cadvan and Saliman only waited a short while before a slave came over with a ring of keys in his hand. He stayed far from Darsor, who stomped angrily and chomped his teeth furiously, but Cadvan took the keys and quickly loosened the chains on the stallion. Saliman did the same, muttering healing charms over her lamed legs. When both horses seemed in good enough condition to ride, the Bards swung themselves up into the saddle and plodded out of the stables.

In the courtyard, the Hulls were assembling into ranks, and Cadvan and Saliman led their horses slightly to the side. They didn't know where they fit in the Nameless One's army, though they suspected that, had he really had his way, the two of them would have been driven by whips with the other slaves all the way to Lirigon. After a time, Ignalt came to join them. He held their swords in his hand and tossed them disdainfully at their owners.

"Be sure not to drop those, you won't get another," he drawled. He eyed the black stallion Cadvan rode with displeasure. "Of course, that beast was yours. I should have fed it to the dogs when I had the chance."

"I'm sure he feels the same about you," Cadvan assured him and Darsor snorted.

"Will you two be able to keep pace this time? I hear it that Bards make for poor riders, constantly needing breaks for food and sleep. Weak little creatures, they are."

"If you've a worry that we'll not sturdy enough you can always leave us behind," Saliman said.

The Hull struck him upside the head for his savvy. "Would that I could, but you two have work to do. Now, I don't want to hear from you this trip, so keep your mouths shut and your heads down. Not a word, you understand?"

Cadvan and Saliman exchanged glances but nodded all the same. Ignalt left them and was replaced by two more Hulls that took up positions on either side of them. When the Hulls prepared to ride out, the two pushed Cadvan and Saliman to the front, so they rode directly behind Ignalt.

_What an honor, _Cadvan observed sardonically to Saliman, who rolled his eyes as they set off through the gates.

* * *

Hekibel sat alone in her room, breathing in the beauty of the street below. Early spring flowers were peeking out of boxes, trees were throwing forth new buds, and the sun had taken on the quality of spring: not burning, but a pleasant warmth that seemed to wake the mind. She focused on a tree of pale purple lavender and watched the branches sway and let her mind clear.

_Think of nothing else but him, think of him smiling at you, laughing with you, acting on stage with you. Think of how your heart felt when he was near you. _

Hekibel closed her eyes, picturing Saliman. She could see his smiling, handsome face, his hand coming up to push his hair out of the way. She wanted to reach out and sweep his hair back, tie it in a knot, play with it. She could hear him laugh at her and tell her to be serious. Then he would take her in his arms and pull her closer, close the space between her face and his, kiss her firmly and passionately, the way a man who loves a woman kisses.

The image faded as quickly as it had come. For a brief moment, her mind went blank and she saw only darkness, then there were pinpricks of light like tiny candles and a new vision came to her. She saw Saliman crouched on the ground, cowering on broken cobbles. His face was drawn in a painful grimace and he was holding his hair so tightly in his hands Hekibel thought he would rip it out. A shadow lurched over him and his mouth opened in a silent scream. She saw his eyes widen in abject terror and then roll back until only the whites remained. Hekibel jerked in his direction, but she wasn't in the courtyard with him, and when she opened her eyes, she was back in her room,

"Silvia," she rasped, struggling to her feet and upsetting the jug of water on the table besides. "Silvia!"

She ran from the room, dodging students in the house, begging anyone to tell her where Silvia was. A kindly, concerned young man directed her to the kitchens where Silvia was salting meat, preparing it for travel to Lirigon. When Hekibel came rushing into the room, Silvia set the salt aside and darted to her side, catching the poor women before she collapsed.

"Get me Laradhel," she ordered swiftly to the young Bard. "Just bring the whole bottle."

Hekibel had crumpled against the table and had covered her face with her hands. She was shaking so terribly that Silvia wasn't sure she wouldn't fall to the ground. She led the poor woman to a chair by the kitchen fire and helped her into it. For a long time, Hekibel did nothing but draw deep, shuddering breaths. Silvia ran her hand through the woman's hair, sweeping it back from her face. At length, Hekibel lifted her eyes and looked up into Silvia's face. The Bard flinched at the look of dread she saw there.

"I saw Saliman," she whispered in a harsh voice. "I saw him in a terrible place, a dead courtyard, cowering the shadow of some great shadow. He was screaming and screaming but I couldn't hear."

Silvia mouthed wordlessly, as if she didn't understand the words properly. Her first thought was that Hekibel was no Seer, she had no Gift, so perhaps it was just a nightmare. But then, such a vivid description of one loved so dearly might be a vision sent from beyond the Gates. People without the Gift were known to have visions after all, and if Hekibel and Saliman had shared as deep a love for one and other as Silvia suspected, it was possible.

"Perhaps it is just a warning," said Silvia gently. "A vision of what is to come, not what has been."

Hekibel laughed hollowly. "Is that any better? He is not tormented _yet_, but he will be soon?"

"No," said Silvia after a long pause. "It is my hope that what you saw is but a possible future, but you are right, it is no better. In truth, it scares me. Among the Bards, Saliman is one of the most Gifted and certainly one of the bravest. If what you saw is true, then I fear for us all."

"Am I still to leave?" Hekibel asked.

"Time is running short," Silvia said. "Yes, I think you should leave in the next week. Selmana is more than happy to host you."

"Until I must leave again," said Hekibel with a little venom in her voice.

"This Darkness will come for the Bards first," Silvia answered. "We are the greatest threat to the Nameless One now. Humans like yourself may avoid his shadow if you are fortunate. Selmana has family that are not Bards. I think she will reach out to them and send you there in due course."

Hekibel shrugged listlessly. "If this is the wisdom of the Bards, then I will go."

Silvia wished she could give the woman more help, but as the days passed, there seemed little recourse. Innail was almost half empty by the end of the week and the School had released a statement that all Bards were free to choose whether or not to fight. Though a few families had left and many of the children had been sent to Lirigon, most of the full Bards had stayed and were arming themselves. It lifted Silvia's heart to see so many of the Bards staying back, but a part of her quelled at it. She knew that these people would not live, or worse, would be taken back to Den Raven. Everywhere Silvia went, she felt like she was saying goodbye: to people, to places, to favorite taverns and shops, to beautiful gardens and homes. She felt a small part of her was leaving too, that she was farewelling herself.

Hekibel's vision also weighed heavily on her mind, and though she didn't tell Malgorn, she was fearful for him. She worried that Malgorn would share Saliman's fate and feared the night when such dreams might plague her. She waited desperately for word from any Bards or beasts that might have seen Saliman and Hem or Cadvan and Maerad, but none came. She sent word to the other Schools that they feared Innail would soon fall and that they must prepare for battle.

Finally, after a week of dallying, Silvia told Hekibel to begin packing her things. Irc would travel with her and Malgorn had convinced the bird that he should travel between Lirigon and Innail as long as possible to keep communications open. Silvia procured a travel pack and filled it with food and water and simple, sturdy clothes that would get her to Lirigon. The horse she had ridden to Innail was brushed and fed and made ready for the journey.

The night before she was to leave, the Bards and Hekibel sat down to one final dinner. Though the shadow of the encroaching army weighed on them all, Silvia had managed to create a delicious feast and Malgorn had dug up some of his best wine. The conversation was light and careless, full of stories from their youths. They did not discuss the future of Innail. After dinner, they retired to the sitting room where they reclined in the large, cushioned chairs and sipped cherry cordial.

"Selmana sent a letter," Silvia said after a time. "She is anticipating your arrival and has made ready rooms for you. She said she would have liked to meet you here and travel with you to be sure of your safety but cannot leave Lirigon. Instead, one of her students will meet you halfway to Lirigon and take you the rest of the way."

Hekbel marveled at the lengths the Bards went for each other. "I'm grateful," she said honestly. "To you two, to Selmana as well. When Saliman sent me away, I didn't know what to expect. You've been very kind to me."

Silvia's eyes were bright but her smile small. "There will come a time soon when the Dark will cover these lands. We must make the most of the Light we can. But I do not doubt that had things been different, Saliman would have brought you here himself to introduce us. I think it is obvious that he had a great love for you."

Hekibel looked down, thoroughly overwhelmed by the sincerity in Silvia's words. "Perhaps we will see each other again in happier times."

"Perhaps," Malgorn said though, personally, he had little hope of ever leaving Innail again.

They sat again in silence a long time. Hekibel finished her drink and brushed the creases out of her skirt. "I'll go see to my pack and make sure I haven't forgotten anything. Will I see you in the morning?"

"Oh yes," said Silvia at once, standing too. "We'll see you to the gate."

Hekibel smiled faintly and thanked them both one last time before retiring to her room.

There was no need to check that she was packed. She'd arrived with nothing so she had nothing to see to. She slipped from the fine gown to a night shift and curled up under the blankets. Irc, who liked sleeping in her room, had found a place on top of a bookshelf where he could roost and was already lightly sleeping. That night, Hekibel slept little but woke in the morning restless. She bathed hurriedly and changed into a warm pair of trousers and tunic, tied her hair up in a loose knot, and gathered her things.

"You look ready for riding," said Silvia brightly, though the smile on her face didn't reach her eyes. "Come, let us fetch your horse."

It was barely light and the city was still asleep. Hekibel, Silvia and Malgorn arrived at the stables and made ready her horse. They walked together to the gate where a young man was dosing in the gate house. When Malgorn shook him away, he blushed terribly and hurried to open the gate. Hekibel slipped through and climbed onto the mare under the gaze of Malgorn and Silvia. Irc looped above them in lazy circles.

"It shouldn't take too long, a few days at most," said Silvia, though it sounded like she was trying to reassure herself. "Selmana's student is Astria. She'll wait for you at the Brown Toad at Milhol. She's been told to look for a woman of your description with a white crow."

Hekibel bowed her head and smiled up at Irc. "He'll like the attention."

"There will be many on the road, so you'll never be far from help," Malgorn said with a glance down the path to the Fesse. "You're leaving a bit early, but there should be a crowd departing today as well."

"I'll look for them," said Hekibel. She sat up in the saddle. "Thank you both. I don't know how I could ever had repaid the kindness you showed me. I will miss you."

Silvia took her hand in hers and kissed it. "No one knows how our paths may end. We may meet again. But if not, then it was pleasure to know you Hekibel. May your road be safe."

Hekbel smiled at the blessing. "I will think of you often."

"May the Light bless your path," Maglorn said gravely as Silvia stepped back, "and may you have an easy journey. Farewell, Hekibel."

Hekibel turned then, and as she galloped off into the coming sunrise, Silvia frowned. "I do not know that we will ever see her again, my love. It breaks my heart, for she was a beautiful and kind woman. She and Saliman would have been very happy."

"I do not know," Malgorn said slowly, an uncomfortable sense of foreboding growing in his stomach. "Though I fear for us and all of Innail, I do not know that we won't see her again."


	17. Chapter 17

Author's Note: Hi everyone! Aside from some of these chapters getting longer as I try to keep track of the separate plot lines here, in a slight departure form the books, I had to bring back a character who died. I think there's too much potential drama (and fun) not to have them. Thanks for reading!

Chapter Seventeen

Cadvan slouched in the saddle, eyeing the bent back of Ignalt unhappily. He had to repress an urge to lunge across the space between them and strike the Hull dead with the Arnost. He imagined how wonderful it would feel to drive the blade into its back, watch it wither and die as the years it had escaped with the help of the Dark were laid back on it. He knew a small part of his heart was thrilled with the prospect, the same part of him that in his youth had been so keen for revenge against Dernhil, had so proudly summoned the Bone Queen, had relished in her death after what she had done. The Dark part of him.

_But how can it be Dark when it serves the Light? _He wondered contritely. _Surely this anger in your heart, as cruel and implacable as it is, serves the Light?_

Cadvan flinched when the voice of the Nameless One whispered in his ear. _You're a man of great passions, Cadvan, that is all. A passionate lover, a passionate fighter, a passionate believer of the Light. To your heart, they are all the same._

_ Go away, _he thought, horrified that his connection to the Nameless One seemed unbroken by such distance. He left, and though Cadvan didn't hear laughter, he sensed amusement in the Nameless One, like a silent smile. Cadvan shivered.

When he looked up again, it was to see Saliman watching him, a concerned expression on his face. He smiled lopsidedly but this did little to ease Saliman's worry. "I hope we're near the end of our march, for I'm tired of the saddle and Darsor needs food."

Saliman rustled the mane of his mare. "I imagine Minna is too. And I could do with a proper place to sleep, dozing in the saddle is hard work."

The Hull riding to Saliman's right hissed at him. "You will be silent."

"I just wondered when we might break this ride. Our horses need rest," Saliman said with a carefully blank face.

"Your horse can survive till the sun sinks," the Hull said with cruel amusement.

While it was true the horses could certainly continue till the sun had set, neither Saliman nor Cadvan were keen to keep them going. The Hulls drove a merciless pace, riding at an almost constant gallop. Around them, the horses that bore the Hulls cried out for the ride to end, but consumed as they were by the Dark, the Hulls didn't understand their mounts pleading. The Bards did, though, and it drove a splinter in their hearts to hear the cries of the animals.

_The Hulls drive a hard pace. They must be desperate to reach the Black Army at Eleve, _Cadvan observed.

_At this rate, we'll reach what's left of Jerr-Niken by tomorrow,_ Saliman said to Cadvan. He didn't sound pleased at the prospect and Cadvan had no delusions as to why. Seeing the desolation of Jerr-Niken was bound to be painful.

_I am sorry, my friend, _Cadvan said empathetically, but he thought his words were hollow. He knew that had the same been said to him when Lirigon burned he would have found little comfort in it.

Saliman bowed his head and sunk into private silence. Cadvan switched his gaze to the Hull before him and returned to his fantasies of killing him. It went on for some time before they reached a small collection of buildings on the other side of the Glandugir Hills and Ignalt finally called an end to their march. When he turned and saw Cadvan's shadowed face, he smiled blithely.

"A fine place to end our march today." It looked around at the dead hills and watched a dry wind blow dust around them. The shacks and low dormitories were hauntingly desolate and Cadvan wondered who had lived here before they arrived and where they had gone. "We'll have a pleasant night at our old training grounds. I imagine some of us may still find our old rooms."

Saliman gave a start of recognition and Cadvan caught his eye curiously. He shook his head, indicating the stable where they might have a whispered conversation. Surprisingly, Ignalt followed them into the stable and directed them to the very back stalls. Cadvan and Saliman removed the saddles and blankets under his bright red gaze, but when they moved to hang them up, Ignalt held up a hand.

"You may wish to keep those handy. The nights can be cold in the desert." When neither Bard said anything, just stared at him blankly, he gestured to the stalls. "Bards don't have a right to beds. You'll sleep here with the other animals."

Saliman smiled grimly. "Fair enough. I'm sure I'll sleep better here anyway."

Ignalt turned an ugly look on him, took a step forward and shoved him into the stall with such force Saliman tumbled into the hay. He stepped on Saliman's leg, applying enough pressure to make the Bard gasp. "If I could, I'd you lash to a fence post, but it seems we'll need you in your full faculties when we reach Eleve, so I can't surrender you to the mercy of the desert."

Though he felt rather small looking up at Ignalt, Saliman held his gaze. The Hull turned away first and angrily aimed a swipe at Cadvan, who stepped back before its fist could connect with his face. The Hull slammed the stall door closed and then waved his hand over each of the doors in succession. Saliman and Cadvan saw a faint glow, felt a tug of magic, and knew he had cast some small ward on the door. Probably to alert him if either of them tried to leave.

"I will be so happy when we reach Eleve and you two are no longer my responsibility. I grow weary of constantly having to check on you, guard you, house you, _feed _you. It's like having a pet, but worse. A pet that bites you."

"You haven't given us food," Cadvan observed wryly.

"If you're lucky, someone will bring it later," Ignalt sneered. "Get some rest while you can, we've a long ride tomorrow and we won't stop till we reach Jerr-Niken."

"So keen to get to the ruins?" Saliman asked before he could stop himself.

"There are slaves there that need ordering," Ignalt said with pleasure as he turned to leave. "You'll have the distinct pleasure of seeing that process upon arrival."

Once the Hull was gone, Cadvan and Saliman leaned back against their stalls. Darsor nosed the nape of Cadvan's neck warmly and Cadvan smiled faintly at him. "To be honest, I'd rather sleep here than in room with Hulls."

"Indeed," Saliman said, "this place especially holds dark memories for me."

"You know this place?" Cadvan asked, shock plain in his voice.

"The Nameless One was training an army of child soldiers here," Saliman said darkly. An image of Zelika rose unbidden in his mind and he bowed his head.

Cadvan was appalled. "_Child soldiers_?"

Saliman met his gaze with a desolate look. "Children taken from the sacked cities were brought here and made to drink some concoction. It drove them mad, they forgot their lives."

"You saw this?" Cadvan asked darkly.

"Hem did." Saliman waved toward the encampment vaguely. "There was a girl he met in Turbansk whose family had been slaughtered in the raids. She was kidnapped by the Hulls after we fled Turbansk and he followed her here. He stayed for weeks, training with the other snouts."

Cadvan's lip curled in disgust. "Snouts?"

"It what they called themselves." Saliman shook his head. "They travel with the Black Army now. I do not envy the Bards who will face them in battle. They were vicious as wild dogs-worse even for the Speech had no effect on them. And they are _children_."

"No Bard would raise a weapon to a child," Cadvan said bitterly. "This is true evil."

"Perhaps you are right, Cadvan. Perhaps the Nameless One is far wiser than we thought. He knows our weakness lies in the goodness of our hearts."

"What happened to the girl?" Cadvan asked suddenly, staring morosely out the window of the stall where he could see the Hulls conferring with each other. He wondered what atrocities had occurred here.

"She died." Cadvan cringed. "Hem was heart broken for a time. I think he loved her very much."

"He made no mention of it," Cadvan said after a time. His thoughts were on his own youth, on Ceredin who had died so young. "I am sorry for him."

Saliman nodded. "I know that youth forgets many things and young hearts heal faster than old, but I think she will be with him forever. Perhaps, given what has come to pass, it is better though. I do not relish the thought of Zelika a captive in the Dark Tower. She probably would have gotten herself killed by now."

"You think?"

Saliman laughed softly. "She had more nerve than you or I, and a mouth to match. Had she met the Nameless One, I think she might have tried to run him through with her short sword."

"Maerad would have liked her then," Cadvan mused.

"Those two in the tower!" Saliman's eyes gleamed. "The Nameless One would have thought twice about that. Between the two of them, they would have driven him mad." Saliman settled down in the hay, and though he could no longer see Cadvan, he could hear his steady breathing. It was calming. "You know, I sometimes think there is a wildness in their blood, Hem and Maerad, I mean, and it calls to other wild things. Zelika was suited to it."

Cadvan stretched lazily in the hay enjoying the warmth. "Wild things, eh?"

"You as well, my friend," Saliman said with a smile.

"That's where you're wrong." Cadvan closed his eyes. "I long for nothing more than a warm bed, a good meal, a few books, and good music. No wildness for me." But when he closed his eyes, Cadvan saw Maerad in his bed again, bathed in moonlight, her long hair trailing down her shoulders and back in dark streams. When she turned to face him, there was something fey in there, something of the Elidhu and it excited him.

"If you say so," Saliman said with a shrug, and then rolled over in the hay, wrapping himself in the saddle blanket.

Though they both drifted off to sleep immediately, it seemed that they were being woken by slaves after only a few minutes. Cadvan jerked awake when someone prodded his shoulder, sitting upright. The startled slave stumbled back, almost dropping the bread he carried, and scrambled for the stall door. Cadvan held up his hands in a universal sign of surrender.

"It's alright," he said slowly as one might to a child. "I'm not going to hurt you."

The slave eyed him closely and then held out the loaf of bread again. Cadvan took it with a smile and tipped his head in thanks. While he chewed the stale bread, the slave woke Saliman, who spoke something of the man's tongue. They had a short, stilted conversation and the slave pointed at him once, then left with a glance at Cadvan.

"What was that about?" Cadvan asked once he'd finished what he assumed was his meal and began brushing down Darsor.

"His name is Hal," Saliman said. "He serves the Lord Ignalt and says it is his duty to see we're fed and watered and made ready for travel each day until we reach Eleve." Cadvan raised his eyebrows and Saliman chuckled. "And he said you must have drunk too much milk as a babe, because you're paler than desert glass."

"I barely drank milk," Cadvan said stoutly, refusing to acknowledge Saliman's sudden, bright smile. Beside him, Darsor whinnied in amusement. "That wasn't an invitation for your opinion," Cadvan added to the horse.

The Bards saddled their horses and waited until Hal returned to open the stable doors. He seemed mildly surprised to find them both standing, waiting for him to let them out, but made no comment to Saliman. In the yard of the encampment, Hulls were already mounting their horses and shouting orders to their servants. Ignalt spied the two Bards and waved them over with his usual scowl.

"You two slept well, I'm sure?" he asked, spotting a strand of hay still caught in Cadvan's hair. "You smell like horse."

_You smell like death, _Saliman though, but kept his mouth closed. "Have you called us over here just to make jokes?"

"We're going to reach Jerr-Niken today before the sun sets." The sun was just rising above the horizon. "That means we'll be riding hard with no stops. I'll have no complaints from either you or your horses, know that."

Saliman and Cadvan exchanged a look. It would take hours of riding at full gallop to reach the remains of the School before dark. The horses would be dead on their feet by the end. "Fast riding now could make for long delays later," Saliman said.

"No delays." Ignalt turned from them then and mounted his own miserable horse.

Cadvan warned Darsor. _It'll be a hard ride. Many miles with no stopping for food or water._

_ I won't be undone by such lowly creatures, _Darsor said, snorting in the direction of Ignalt.

Cadvan stroked the horse's forehead. _No, I didn't think you would._

The journey was a hard one. Though Cadvan and Saliman were in the saddle all day, even they felt the growing exhaustion of riding. The sun was relentless, the wind dry and the heat unforgiving. The horses began the day keeping a strong pace, and Darsor particularly seemed to want to demonstrate his stamina, constantly running almost apace with Ignalt's mount. The horses around Darsor found his presence heartening and whinnied and snorted in recognition when he was near them. However, when Darsor drew too near Ignalt, he snarled and slashed a whip in his direction, and Darsor fell back. Thought the stallion found it almost unbearable to his pride, he would run alongside Minna, of whom he was growing rather fond.

But as the day wore on, the horses' strength began to flag. Darsor didn't push his pace to lead, Minna had stopped speaking to Saliman and focused entirely on drawing breath and the horses the Hulls rode no longer acknowledged Darsor. Cadvan and Saliman both refused to sink down in their saddles, as it only weighed the horses down more, and they both felt aches in their spines and legs from keeping stiff and still in the saddle.

When the sun had finally begun to sink and the oppressive heat of the day began to fade, Cadvan and Saliman began looking for signs of civilization. They had ridden almost entirely through desert and hills, but as they drew near to the end of Den Raven, they knew they would cross the Niken river. The river itself served as a sort of barrier between deathly desert and verdant, fertile land, for the river carried rich nutrients down from the mountain and turned the sand to thick, wet clay. It was Saliman who saw the river first, catching the flash of the fresh water in the fading sun. Without a care for the Hulls, he cried out in relief and pointed to the snaking river. The horses seemed to sense an end to the journey and threw back their heads, charging faster onward. When they reached the shore of the river, both Darsor and Minna snorted and tossed their heads, dancing about on their aching feet.

_A quick bath to wash the sweat away, my friend? _Cadvan asked, rubbing a tender spot between Darsor's ears.

_Don't fall off, _Darsor warned, and launched forward into the stream.

Cadvan gave a cry of surprise, but Darsor marched in up to his chest, flicking his ears and lapping up cool mountain water. Cadvan was soon drenched to his knees, but it felt so good that he gathered water in his hands and splashed it on his neck and face. There was another crash of water and shout of surprise, and Minna had joined them with Saliman laughing. The other horses who carried the Hulls looked on jealously at the stallion and mare up to their chests in cold water, and the Hulls eyed Cadvan and Saliman as if they had gone mad.

"Are you children?" demanded Ignalt in disgust from the shore.

Cadvan and Saliman turned about, the smiles fading from their faces. In their brief moment of respite from the heat, they had almost forgotten that they traveled with a battalion of Hulls. The slaves gathered on the shore looked on in complete shock.

Saliman, who had pulled back his long braids so he could wash his neck shrugged. "You said we smelled like horse. A quick wash ought to fix that." Cadvan snorted.

Ignalt snarled and dismounted, calling for a slave to find the barge to ferry them across. Cadvan and Saliman watched the retinue pass their horses to their servants and wait on the shore for a boat. Both the Bards wondered vaguely what might happen if a Hull fell into water. Did they simply dissolve like dust, carried away by the current? Was the dark fire in them that fed their immortality extinguished? They certainly seemed to have a distinct distaste for the water, which they avoided and refused to let touch their cloaks.

Cadvan and Saliman carefully guided Darsor and Minna across the Niken, but, as it was still early spring and much of the mountain snow hadn't melted yet, the river was fairly easy to cross. There were a few instances where Darsor had to actually swim, and Cadvan went uneasily along with him, but they crossed smoothly. Minna, who was shorter than Darsor ended up swimming most of the way and Saliman was thoroughly drenched by the end. He didn't seem to mind though.

It took a while for the Hulls to land on the opposite side, and even longer to ferry the horses across. Some, like Darsor and Minna, wanted to swim, but the slaves feared they were too weak from their run and would drown and so forced them to take a ferry. In the interim, Darsor and Minna drank plentifully and Cadvan and Saliman sat on the shore, their bare feet exposed to the stream.

"We're not even twenty miles from the School," Saliman said apprehensively. "We should be there in a few hours."

"I'd say at least we have a bed waiting for us, but I imagine we'll be in the stable again," Cadvan mused. At that moment, he cared little for the destination and wanted nothing more than to strip down to his underclothes and wade out into the water.

Once the Hulls were back on their horses, the slave Hal came to collect the two Bards. Cadvan smiled lazily at him, dragging Darsor regretfully from the river and pulling himself back into the saddle. Saliman was whispering to Minna, who was refusing to leave the cooling stream. After some wheedling and promises of a bucket of cool mint water, she allowed Saliman to mount her. They set off again, but this time, the horses seemed anxious to be done. Darsor ignored Ignalt's whip and ran as swiftly as he could, Minna, right at his tail. They knew the end of the ride and a comfortable stable were mere hours away, so pacing themselves no longer seemed importantly.

As they approached Jerr-Niken, Saliman grew more and more apprehensive and Minna hesitated in her stride. The Hull to his right snarled at him to move faster but his face had paled and he looked like he might be ill. Cadvan touched his mind with his own, a brief contact to convey sympathy and concern, but when they reached what remained of the gates, even Cadvan recoiled at the devastation.

The city and School had been sacked years ago and recently been claimed by the Dark. It served as something of an outpost of the Nameless One's forces in Annar now and was a rallying place for the armies as well as a place to process prisoners of war brought back as slaves. When Cadvan and Saliman passed beneath the portcullis and into a courtyard they both recoiled. Here, remnants of the Black Army had gathered and men were organizing supplies and weapons. When the Hulls rode past, then bowed deferentially though a few spotted Cadvan and Saliman and stared, confused. They went along the main road that led to the School and found that the gates had been blown back off the hinges and hung sadly in the frame. Vomit rose in the throats of the Bards when they saw bodies hanging over the side of the wall. Each had been beheaded, their clothes removed, and the sign of the Sick Moon branded into their chests.

They passed into the remains of the School. Most of the buildings had been burned to the ground, the cobbled streets torn underfoot of war machines, and everywhere, there were dark stains of blood. At first, they thought the place had been abandoned, however, when the Bards sent out their hearing, they could just catch the pitter patter of light feet. When they reached the Singing Hall, the doors were thrown open and a Hull emerged, eyes gleaming. Ignalt dismounted and joined it on the steps. They spoke and at length, then Ignalt laughed. The Hull that had greeted them gestured to them and waved at the doors.

"We can continue the conversation inside out of the heat." Cadvan and Saliman wondered if they were included in this invitation as it seemed unlikely, and indeed, as soon as Saliman made to dismount, one of the Hulls held up a hand, smirking.

"You go back to the stables and stay there," it said. "We don't need the bleeding hearts of Bards in the way as we work."

Cadvan shrugged and turned Darsor in the direction of the stables and was shocked to find a small group of children barring his way. None of them seemed older than thirteen or fourteen, and many were as young as eight or nine. They stared at Cadvan and Saliman with empty, aggressive eyes. A boy stepped forward and Cadvan was horrified to see that that he had a knife in his hand that he waved lazily at Cadvan.

"Are these for us?" he asked the Hull on the steps. He never took his eyes off the Bards as he spoke, and his companions craned forward, equally curious about the two ragged looking men before them.

"No," the Hull said sharply. "You keep an eye on them but leave them to their own devices. They know their place without reminding."

The boy looked unsure about the whole thing. "They're not right."

"You have a keen eye, boy," Ignalt approached and the children stepped back deferentially. He flashed a grin at the Bards and said, "Get down." A voice was telling Cadvan not to dismount and he noticed Saliman's hands twitch on Minna's reins. When they still hadn't dismounted, Ignalt snarled, "Get down _now_. Remember, loyalty always."

Never taking their eyes from the children, Cadvan and Saliman swung themselves out of the saddle and faced the children. The boy in the lead switched his gaze back and forth between Cadvan and Saliman, sniffing like he could smell some magic on them. Ignalt stepped back and grabbed Cadvan and Saliman by a hank of hair and dragged them forward. The children laughed at the casual cruelty.

"These are Bards," Ignalt said with distaste. "Do you know what Bards are?"

"Witches," hissed one of the children, baring his teeth like a dog. "They summon evil spirits to serve them and they force innocent men and women to work in their cities like slaves."

"That's right," Ignalt said ecstatically while Saliman and Cadvan gaped at them. "Bards are evil and if given half a second, will summon their fire to burn you. These two are famous Bards, very _powerful_ Bards, you should be so lucky that we caught them before they had a chance to find you."

"Then let us have them!" another child cried desperately. "Cur kill!"

_Cur kill? _Cadvn wondered, glancing at Saliman who shrugged, nonplussed.

"_No_!" hissed Ignalt at once. "No, not a hair on their heads is to go harmed. You see, the great master caught them and held them in his fastness until they submitted to his will. These Bards are our servants now and bound to do our bidding. See here." Ignalt switched his grip from their hair to their wrists, showing the Sick Moon burned into their flesh. "We have turned their dark powers against them so they might help us in our battle against the evil in the north."

The children stared at the brands, drinking in the sight of puckered, angry red skin. Their leader came up until he was but an arm's breadth away. His expression was one of bland hatred, as if he didn't know why he disliked anything, only that he did. He switched his gaze back and forth between Saliman and Cadvan for a long time before paused on Saliman.

"You hail from the south. You betrayed your own people." He spat in Saliman's face and though the Bard was outraged, he didn't let it show. The boy then turned his attention on Cadvan, taking in his fair skin and very blue eyes. He curled his hand into a fist and punched him in the gut. Cadvan was shocked by the ferocity of the blow: it hurt far more than he cared to admit. "And you're from the north, aren't you? Your people are soulless animals."

Ignalt snickered at the child's righteous anger. "Now, now, my little snout. These Bards are _ours _now. Don't be rough with them or they'll be no good in battle, will they? Be good lads and take them to the stables and tie them up with their horses so they don't try and run."

"Yes, sir," said the boy suddenly serious. He turned on his heel and the crowd of children parted for him.

"Have a care. They won't kill you, but I don't think these children exercise the same restraint of trained soldiers. You should give them no reason to hurt you." Ignalt shoved Saliman and Cadvan in the direction of the children.

The Bards followed the leader at a distance, but the children formed a tight circle around them, all holding their knives at the ready. They reached the stables, and the boys led Cadvan and Saliman to a set of stalls were the horses might stay, then onward to the tack room. Neither Cadvan nor Saliman made a move to run or attack, but the lead boy crossed behind a table so it formed a natural barrier between them.

"I don't trust your kind, no matter what the lords say. We won't kill you because you bear the mark of our master, but we won't forgive your people what you did to us."

"And what did we do to you?" Saliman asked curiously.

"Quiet!" snapped the boy. He waved the others forward. "We can't let them speak spells against us. Gag them."

Cadvan and Saliman were both a head taller than any of the boy's in the room and were about to refuse when one of the boys stuck the back of their knees with the flat of his blade. They both sank onto their knees, cursing loudly. A boy came up behind each of them and jammed a piece of cloth into their mouths. Cadvan could taste sandalwood on the fabric and guessed it had been used to buff leather riding gear. The taste was bitter on his tongue and he tried to spit it out. The boy behind him struck the back of his head. When both the Bards were effectively silenced, the leader of the child army came out from behind the table, holding a short sword aloft. He placed it first against Saliman's heart then under Cadvan's chin.

"You'll stay back here, out of the way of our lords." Cadvan and Saliman were dragged to the ends of a tacking post, their hands drawn behind their backs. The leader watched indifferently. "You know what your people did to us, and now we'll have our revenge. Maybe we can't kill you two, but who's to say you haven't got family up north? Maybe a pretty girl? You must have one, a handsome Bard like you. We can find her and have a bit of fun. Maybe lots of fun before we kill her."

For a moment, Cadvan was going to let the jibe pass, but then he boy licked his lips. Before he knew what he'd done, Cadvan jerked forward sharply and a gust of wind slammed the door to the tack room opened, scattering ash and sending some of the tools on the wall clattering to the floor. The boy fell back with a loud curse and his companions stumbled for the door.

"Demons!" the leader snarled, slashing his blade just before Cadvan's face and turning to run.

With the snouts gone, the tack room was decidedly miserable. The Bards relaxed back against the post, marveling at the children. They seemed possessed of some dark energy that drove them to commit atrocious crimes, and behind their innocent faces was a malignant will that consumed them. Both Bards had no doubt that if these children went to battle in the north, the people would fall.

Ignalt entered the tack room the next morning, pausing on the threshold to take in the view of his two captives. They were both trussed and gagged, their heads ducked against their chests in sleep. The Hull was confused by the sight of the two men who were, in their waking life, some of the most powerful Bards in the land, but now, bound and asleep, pathetically weak in their flesh. How did they wield their great power when they were for so plainly mundane? He lifted a bucket of cold water and threw it on them.

Saliman cursed loudly through his gag

Ignalt's lips peeled back to reveal his sharp teeth. "I just wanted to see you both before we left for the day. I am not disappointed." They watched each other for a long moment, none of them willing to blink. Ignalt hissed, spinning around to face the door. "Get in here, snouts, the Bards won't hurt you. They're gentle beasts."

The snouts were crowding in the doorway, watching the Hull taunt the Bards, mildly impressed. Their leader inched in, never taking his eyes off the Bards, and approached the Hull apprehensively.

"Get them ready for travel, we've another long journey ahead of us," Ignalt said to the boy, "and at the end, a great battle." These last words seemed to cheer the boy a bit, who smiled fleetingly at the thought of war.

Ignalt swept out and the boy turned to the Bards. "Not so brave with our master, are you?" he sneered. Cadvan and Saliman betrayed no emotion, and this unnerved the boy who testily drummed his fingers on the hilt of his short sword. "Come on, get them up!" he snapped at the others who rushed in at his command.

Cadvan felt small hands working at the rope that bound him and grappled with the strange of sensation of _wanting_ to defend himself but _knowing _it would mean harming a child. He supposed this was part of the Nameless One's penchant for destruction and torment. It was easy to hurt someone, to make them feel small and afraid, but this was a fundamental wrong, an abomination that turned nature on itself and left the feeling of confusion knotting his stomach. He glanced at Saliman and, judging by the look of unease on his face, he felt the same.

"Don't stand until we tell you," the boy loosening Cadvan's hands said. "Don't move until we tell you."

Cadvan nodded his head in assent but the child didn't seem to trust him anymore, because he twisted his arm for good measure. After both Cadvan and Saliman had been freed, the boys stood back, glancing to their leader for guidance. He surveyed both Bards coldly, and with a cocksure look for the children around him, reached forward and pulled the gags out of their mouths.

Saliman flashed him a bright smile. "Thank you, child. I must admit, that tasted foul."

_You shouldn't tease them, _Cadvan said, but found he was smiling faintly.

"Quit smirking!" the boy ordered and kicked dust into both their faces. He had meant his display to impress the other snouts, and now the Bards were ruining it. He thought quick about how to regain the upper hand. "I'll knock your teeth in."

"Well, we don't want that," agreed Saliman solemnly. "May we see to our horses?"

The Bard's politeness was clearly unnerving the snouts, who didn't know what to do with kindness, and a few of the flightier children were gripping their weapons tightly. Their leader gestured shortly to the stables. "You can get your horses ready, but don't try running! We can run you down on foot if we wanted."

"No doubt," agreed Cadvan in the same soft, gracious tone as Saliman. Both Bards waited a moment longer before standing up and though they ached in their joints, they didn't let the stiffness show as they walked pass the lines of children and into the stable. The children followed them and then mulled around the door to the stable, watching them narrowly as if expecting them to mount their horses and flee at any second.

"I do not like this," Saliman said under his breath. "It makes my heart sore to see children like this."

"There is something wrong with it, for sure. Do you feel it, the anger? It's like they are full of hatred but don't know why. I pity them for their fate but worry they will win the battle."

"Of all the evils the Nameless One has worked, this is surely one of the worst." Saliman bowed his head and Cadvan sensed a great sadness welling up in his friend. Minna nosed at his neck tenderly and Saliman laughed hollowly. "This is no place for tears. I am far too old to lose my head like this."

Cadvan was thinking of the children in Lirigon and Innail and wondering if their fate might be to join the snouts. He shuddered. "I think age has nothing to do with it. I think the crimes of the Dark supplant all age and I am afraid for what we will see in Lirigon and Innail."

Saliman sighed and began to lead Minna out. "It breaks my heart to say it, but I am glad you are with me, Cadvan."

They spent four miserable days on the road to Eleve, made worse than the first leg of their journey by the presence of the snouts. Cadvan and Saliman rode with the Hulls as usual, but the snouts flanked them like a protective guard, and it was hard to ignore their antics. The children were an unruly bunch, like a pack of wild dogs, which seemed to the suit the Hulls just fine. From the days of travel, the Bards gathered that the children belonged to different groups, and that these groups were constantly at each other's throats, taking small pleasure in cornering rival groups members and attacking them. It was never serious enough to kill, but certainly violent enough to disturb the Bards. Cadvan watched one boy wrestle another to the ground and bite his face until it drew blood, but the injured boy's fellows came to the rescue and pulled the boy off him and broke all his fingers. They had careless regard for the slaves and animals, lunging at them with weapons and threatening to slit their throats in the night, talk that greatly amused the Hulls who nodded their heads sagely. Surprisingly, they seemed to give Cadvan and Saliman a great breadth, which made them both wonder what stories they'd been told of the power of Bards.

At night, they gathered in their respective packs and lazed around their camp sites, comparing weapons, telling crude jokes, play fighting. The group of boys charged with seeing to the Bards made a great show of it, and the other snouts looked on jealously as the lead boy who had first greeted Cadvan and Saliman led them through the crowds of children with his blade at their backs. It was clearly meant to display his superiority and prowess in battle that he dared walk so close to a witch, but Cadvan and Saliman merely looked on emptily. They were both met again with that profound sense of confusion and couldn't understand the pleasure the children took in violence.

Cadvan had a brief interaction on the second night with the boy, but it did little to set him at ease. The boy was picking through Cadvan's things carelessly when he came across Arnost. The blade came up past his hip, and when the boy tried to lift it, his arm shook under the weight. He managed to heft it up with both hands but couldn't hold it long and it clattered to the ground, echoing around the stable. The boy stared at it spitefully, and when he looked up, he found Cadvan's eyes on him.

"How'd you get a sword like that?" the boy asked sharply, kicking it. It skidded across the ground and fetched up against a wall.

"I needed it," Cadvan said simply.

"What's a witch like you need a sword for? Can't you just spell a person?" There was a bland hostility in his voice that was almost comical if not for the weapon he carried.

"I do not like to use spells to hurt people," Cadvan said carefully, turning back to Darsor and brushing the horse's neck. "I do not like to hurt people in general."

"They say you're a warrior," the boy said, and there was a question in his voice. He looked Cadvan over covertly. "Did your father teach you how to fight then?"

Cadvan snorted at the absurdity of the statement. "My father was a cobbler. He knew as much of swordcraft as you do of song writing. I was already a man before I learned to hold a sword."

The boy glanced back at Arnost. "How'd you get to be a great warrior then?"

"There's more to fighting than knowing how to swing a sword." Cadvan turned around and faced the boy. "What's your name?"

"Reaver," he said proudly.

"Hm. Well, Reaver, there's more to fighting then having a sword. Perhaps you know when to kill, but do you know when _not _to kill?"

Reaver stared blankly back. "There's always a time to kill."

Cadvan cringed inwardly at the surety in his statement. "You would never show mercy?"

"Mercy is for the weak," Reaver said sharply. "Mercy is for cowards."

"Would you want someone to show you mercy?"

Reaver paused a moment, considering his response. "No. If I lost a fight, then I deserve to die. It's only honorable." He met Cadvna's gaze with a sudden challenge. "It's a pity you're already sworn to the cause because I would have liked to fight you. I want to see you actually use that sword, not just carry it around for show."

Cadvan shook his head tiredly. "I don't cross blades with children, Reaver."

"Well then, I guess I'd win, wouldn't I?"

After that, Cadvan didn't speak to the snout again. It upset him too much. However, on the third day of riding, Ignalt called a sudden halt and ordered the snouts to gather round. Cadvan and Saliman exchanged unhappy looks, for Ignalt seemed mightily pleased about something and the Hulls were smiling widely. The two Hulls that rode before the Bards pulled them forward, snickering.

"You'll want to see this," one said. "So you understand."

Ignalt waited while the snouts pressed forward then threw his arms wide. "We're making good time, my little snouts, and I think we'll reach the Eleve by tomorrow night. From there, we march on Lirigon!" The snouts cheered and Cadvan looked away. "But our journey is not over yet, and I fear that this long march had ebbed your strength. Will you be ready for battle when the time comes?" There were affirmative shouts, calls for bloodshed, shaking of weapons. "I am afraid that this time spent lazing around has made you all lax in your training," Ignalt said next, glancing from upturned face to face. "Will you be ready when the time comes?"

Saliman closed his eye on the sight of the children cheering.

Ignalt gave pause, staring around at the horde of crazed children darkly. "There are some among you who are not ready. There are some among you who are weak. What must be done to the weak?"

"Culling!" cried a voice.

"Yes!" Ignalt snarled back. "The pack must be culled so only the strongest survive. If we are to defeat the witch folk of the north, we must have only the best among us. We can risk weakness in our soldiers."

Saliman had a strong urge to step away, but the Hull beside him snatched his arm, forcing him into place. Cadvan saw Reaver at the front the group, his face exhalant as he began to chant, "Cur kill!" over and over.

_Cur kill? _He wondered recognizing it as the same thing that had been screamed at them a few days before.

"Yes, cur kill," Ignalt agreed softly, and turned to wave something forward.

"What is this?" Cadvan hissed to the Hull standing at his side, but the Hull only laughed.

The Bards watched in horror as a young child was led forward. They could not tell whether it was a boy or girl for its head was shaved, but they could see the child shaking so badly that the chains binding its hands were rattling. The child was pushed forward to face the crowd of snouts but no one moved. Quite suddenly, the child began to sob and puddle of urine pooled on the ground.

A sense of foreboding was unfurling in both the Bards, and they had the urge to be anywhere but here. Cadvan looked around and the saw the tree line that flanked the road, wondering if it would be safer there. The Hull beside him grabbed hold of the collar of his shirt and jerked him to attention.

Ignalt was backing away slowly, smiling widely at its charges with its hands held wide. When he was back in line with the Hulls, he paused for the briefest moment, found Saliman and Cadvan's in the crowd and winked slowly. Ignalt dropped his hands, clapping them together.

Madness broke loose. The snouts surged forward, clawing and biting at each other, shouting "cur kill" over and over again. The child in chains was submerged in the roiling wave of flesh and its screams were suddenly stifled by the onslaught. Cadvan and Saliman leaned forward, utterly aloof to what was happening before them because it looked like nothing so much as a ball of children rolling in the dirt.

"Weakness we cannot abide!" Ignalt was screaming over the din. "Weakness is traitorous!"

The scrap when on for almost ten minutes before Ignalt clapped his hands together again. Suddenly, the children stopped. They fell back like a receding wave, walking away, chatting amicably as if nothing had happened. Cadvan and Saliman were so shocked by the sudden turn in temperament that it took them a moment to see the corpse of the boy the Hulls had brought forward. What was left did not resemble a human and the Bard's felt bile rise up in their throats when they saw the blood pooling in the dirt from open wounds, the missing appendages, the twisted joints and broken bones.

_I'm going to be sick, _Cadvan told Saliman before he turned and retched. The Hull beside him cursed, springing back to avoid the stomach bile. Saliman, who had heard from Hem what cur kill was had expected as much, but it took every ounce of his self-control not to follow Cadvan.

Ignalt was unimpressed. "Really? This makes you ill? Tell me, Cadvan, how did you survive as long as you did outside your precious Schools? The world is not a beautiful place."

"Maybe that is true, but this is far from beauty," Cadvan croaked, straightening up. "This is the stuff of nightmares."

"You are weak," Ignalt observed. "If you were snout, you would have been ripped apart ages ago."

"Most likely," Cadvan said angrily. "This is too great a betrayal of the Light."

"Wait until we unleash them on your pathetic School. Wait until the Bards have to contend with the might of the snouts. It will be beautiful to behold."

After the display, the Bards both sank into a deep depression thinking of Ignalt's words. He was right, of course, that the snouts loose in the School would be a horror unlike than any other, and the Bards would have no way of combating them. It was an overwhelming sense of despair that met them now, and neither Cadvan nor Saliman had the energy anymore to speak. They refused to look at the snouts, who still followed them cheerfully, talking excitedly of the battles to come, and at night when they were faced with Reaver, were repulsed by his touch. Reaver seemed pleased with the development, believing that he himself had cowed the Bards, and made much talk of it to his friends. It was relief when they finally arrived at Eleve, although the sight that met them was as bad as the snouts.

They marched into the town a little after midday to find the place in shambles. The army had taken possession of city and soldiers were housed in any spare building. The citizens who had been too slow to escape the encroaching army were trapped and being dragged in the streets where the servants of the Dark met them. They passed by horrid scenes, men being slaughtered in a multitude of ways, women begging as they were being assaulted before their throats were slit, children being dragged off still drenched in their parents' blood. In other places, bodies were piled up in the streets so that rivers of blood flowed through the city and animals had come out to drink it, their muzzles caked in dried blood. Fires flickered in homes and alleys, crumbling ruins of the city fell in their path, and everywhere, the ominous presence of the Dark lingered.

As soon as they were in the city, the snouts were directed to a series of building set aside for them, it looked like a hospital and the corpses outside it were dressed in gauz and bandages. Though glad to be done with the snouts, Cadvan and Saliman found themselves nervous to see what lay at the end of this road. The farther they went, the more of the Dark Army they saw. Though many of the men in the city were slaves, the true creatures of the Dark had slunk closer and closer to the center of the city. They passed by rabid dogs that didn't understand the Speech, Hulls lurking in shadows, and the horrid dogsoldiers that snuffled the air and spat acid at passersby. They were eating corpses, crunching bones in their spare time.

It seemed the leader of the Black Army had claimed the mayor's house as his own, and Cadvan and Saliman wondered why they were being delivered there. Surely they were to wait in the stables like before, cared for by the snouts? The Nameless One's words came back to Cadvan suddenly. _A surprise_. What could possibly be waiting at Eleve that was worse than what he had already seen?

When they reached the mayor's house, the Bards jerked back. Three bodies were hanging from the entrance: a man, who must have been the mayor, an older woman and a young girl. They all had their throats cut and the blood had dribbled off their bodies and formed a pool at the entrance. The Bard's carefully navigated the puddle of blood so as not to get any on their boots.

They were taken up a flight of stairs and toward a room that must have been the mayor's study. Ignalt rapped on the door and a voice from within answered. Ignalt threw open the door and led the Bards in to a spacious, handsomely decorated office. Bookshelves lined the walls, though many of the books had tumbled off and were splashed across the floor haphazardly. There were framed paintings of nature scenes and the ceiling had painted flowers trailing up it. The windows behind a large mahogany desk looked out over the burning city and the amassing army blow, and from here, three ropes were pulled taught, vanishing from sight. Cadvan and Saliman guessed that the corpses of the mayor and his family dangled on the end. But it was the desk and the figure leaning back in it, that drew the attention of the room.

Saliman knew at once that it was a Hull of unusual power for it emanated a Dark energy that stole the heat away from the room. It was leaning back, its booted feet crossed and propped up on the table. It was flicking through a tax book, frowning with perverse interest at the numbers and names. When it looked up, Saliman felt a malignant will pierce his mind and found the red eyes of the Hull staring at him, unblinking. However, it's gaze switched quickly from him to Cadvan, and the Hull's face split into something that could have been called a grin. He looked sideways and was shocked to see that Cadvan had gone so pale his scars stood out vividly.

"Our lord thanks you for your service and loyalty to him in the battle against the Light," Ignalt said and removed a letter from his pocket, "and sends you this gift."

"Well now," said the Hull softly, still staring at Cadvan. "This is a treat. I expected a reward for my victory in the name of our master, but this…this is too much. I am undone by his generosity." He stood and took the letter Ignalt had offered, glancing down it before returning his attention to the Bards.

"You and I just keep running into each other, don't we, Cadvan?" It tilted its head curiously like his presence might be a trick. The Hull stood and approached them, head straining forward on its neck. "Have you forgotten me? Is that why you don't greet me like an old friend?"

The Hull reached out agonizingly slowly and placed one finger on Cadvan's temple where his old scar curled around the eye socket. Its red tongue licked its lips, eyes dancing. "No, of course not, you could never forget me. After all we've been through together, I've left my mark. A mark far deeper than any scar."

Finally, Cadvan stirred, pulling away from the Hull's touch. "Likud," he said in a dead voice.

Likud threw its arms wide, eyes sparkling, and a smile plastered absurdly on its face. "Now my cup runneth over!"

* * *

When Sharma had left, Hem trailing morosely behind him, Maerad didn't know what to do. She stood alone for a while, staring at the door and willing it to open again, but when it didn't, she turned and drifted back into the bedroom. She closed the door softly and leaned against it, looking at the place where only a few hours before, she had been curled up under the sheets with Cadvan. Maerad closed her eyes and could still remember the warmth emanating from his chest when he held her and safety she felt enveloped in his arms. She crossed the room and sat on the bed, the weight on her shoulders growing heavier and heavier.

_You'll go to a brothel to be apprenticed to a prostitute._

Maerad shuddered and felt for a blanket on the bed. It was cold now, no hint of Cadvan, and she wrapped it around her shoulders. The horror of her new reality was opening up before her. Sharma was sending her to learn the skills of whore, he expected her to come back with that knowledge, even _use _that knowledge. He wanted to humiliate her and make abundantly clear that this was the fate of those who challenged him: an eternity of shame.

She looked at the bed thinking about his comments about her mother, about Ardina, about her and Cadvan. Had she really traded herself for Cadvan's protection? Did that make her a whore?

_I've never lain with a man, I'm not a whore, _she thought, her hands clenching into fists. She recalled with sharp clarity Cadvan's words about love and desire, and he had not described her behavior as wantonly. He had made it sound normal that a man and woman should feel that way about each other, and that exploring each other's bodies was the natural progression of love. _It is normal to want to love._

But as normal as it was, Maerad worried what she would have to do as an apprentice in a brothel and wondered fleetingly what would happen when Cadvan inevitably learned how she'd spent their time apart. She'd never been to a brothel, they were unseemly in Bardic culture, and while most women in Gilman's Cot had been compelled to perform sexual acts, it wasn't a brothel either. This was far outside her knowledge but that only served to scare her more. What if she was forced to do something with a man?

Maerad waited anxiously in the room, wishing Hem was still there to keep her company. After a time, she decided she couldn't sit still anymore and bathed, but the hot, soapy water did little to calm her nerves. As midday came and no one had come to collect her, she tried to open the door to call for food or water or small ale, but the doors were locked. She returned the bedroom and began to pick through clothing, wondering which she would need. Still, no one came and Maerad simply began to pace before the fire, her fears consuming her.

_I won't be made to sell my body, I won't let them use me. _She squeezed her hands tightly together. _I'm Maerad of Pellinor, daughter of the First Bard Milana, Daughter of the House of Karn. I'm a Bard of the Light, I'm the Fire Lily. _Not_ a whore. _

The sun had begun to sink when Maerad heard movement outside her door. She paused before the fire in the sitting room, eyes trained on the door, and assembled her face into something politely curious and calm. She wouldn't go like a screaming coward when they came for her, she would be as calm as Milana when Enkir came for her.

The door opened and admitted a severe looking woman. She was taller than Maerad, curvaceous and possessing a perfectly round face and striking dark eyes. She had coiffed her rich dark hair but wore no other adornment. Her gown, though an illustrious dark red, was plain with simple black stitching at the waist and neckline. However, it was difficult not to notice the tight fit of the gown and the diving neckline that emphasized the seductive curves of the woman.

_She needs no adornment, _Maerad thought, suddenly uncomfortable with her own narrow figure.

The woman came into the room like she owned the place, looking about with a rather bored expression. Her eyes fell on Maerad, standing still as a statue before the fire, and she flicked her gaze over her. There was no warmth in that look, just a cool assessment of Maerad's value, and the delicate sigh she gave accompanied by her slight frown told Maerad it was low indeed. The woman turned to man beside her and gestured to Maerad.

"This is the girl?" The man nodded curtly, and the woman pursed her lips unhappily. "I expected a bit more to work with."

Maerad flushed. "My name is Maerad."

The woman continued as though Maerad hadn't spoken. "Well, gather her things and take them down to the carriage, then. I don't have all day to dally away in this tower."

The man hurried past an into the bedroom where Maerad could hear him packing her dresses into a chest. He emerged with what she assumed were all the clothes from the closet and marched past them. Maerad watched him go, her mouth set in a straight line and she folded her arms over her chest.

"Who are you?" she asked imperiously.

The woman brushed creases from her skirt before fixing Maerad with a dark stare. "I was told you were aware I was coming to collect you. I was also told you were an _obedient_ child, who did as she was told. Am I wrong in assuming these things?"

Maerad opened her mouth to snap at the woman that yes, she was wrong to think that, but the thought of her brother following Sharma from her room glued her mouth shut. She looked down at her clasped hands. "No, you're not."

"Good," she said sharply. "Now come."

Maerad paused a moment, thinking back to her promise to Cadvan that she would be waiting when he returned, but the woman was already through the door and into the hall and Maerad had no choice but to follow. The tower was now frighteningly silent, as if with the Hulls gone, no one lived there but her, Hem and Sharma and Maerad thought that each step she took echoed around her. They traversed the tower quickly and were soon again at the stairs. Maerad hesitated, remembering how she had been thrown backward by the force of Sharma's spell, but when she crossed the first step, nothing happened. Sharma wanted her to leave with this woman.

In the courtyard before the tower was a single carriage where Maerad could see a chest of her things being loaded. The woman waited by the closed door until one of the men came by the open it. She stepped up lightly and Maerad followed. They sat, opposite each other like combatants, while the chest was secured and a man took the helm. As they set off, the woman turned her attention to Maerad.

"You should consider yourself fortunate that I agreed to take you. I own one of the finest establishments for company and entertainment in all of Dagra. My girls and boys go on to entertain the wealthiest lords in all of Den Raven. Our house has a history of turning out fine consorts and you will not besmirch our good name."

_I don't want to be a fine consort, _Maerad thought. "How does one besmirch the name of prostitutes?"

The woman's expression didn't change one jot, but her hand snapped out and caught Maerad across the face twice. The second blow made Maerad's eyes water and clutched her cheek, glaring at the woman.

"If you train in my house, you're not some lowly _prostitute, _but a fine bred courtesan. You are a beautiful, educated, entertaining companion who does not need to sell herself to make ends meet. That you, a Bard woman, doesn't know the difference doesn't surprise me." Her eyes flashed. "Women like you don't know their own place, and it's no surprise trouble comes of it. I'm not surprised to find you whoring."

"I'm _not _a whore," Maerad said sharply.

"That's not what I was led to believe. Tell me, those rooms I found you in, were those yours or a man's?" When Maerad said nothing but narrowed her eyes, the woman smirked. "As I thought. And I think there is only one bed, yes? Tell me then, have you shared it with the man who keeps those rooms?"

"I'm a maid," Maerad said angrily.

"We'll see about that." The woman laid her hands flat on her lap and levelled Maerad with a firm look. "Bard women move freely from man to man, a disgusting practice. I would pay good money to find one that was still a maid at your age."

Maerad thought it was rather rich to comment on Bardic practices of fluid romances, when you owned a whore house, but clearly the woman thought they were different. They rode in silence a while, descending into the city around the Black Tower. Directly surrounding the tower were slums composed of low, flat houses with small rooms that branched to the sides and roofs made of dirt and sticks. The main road cut a swath through these buildings, but Maerad could see road after twisting narrow road that snaked out of sight, and these side streets were lined with more houses. They seemed empty, and Maerad wondered who usually lived there and where they had gone. The carriage passed through an arched iron gate and they were released into what must have been the city proper, but here, the only difference seemed the houses were multiple stories tall and there were people all around. They packed the streets and parted for the fine carriage, staring at the closed windows. Maerad realized as they passed over a bridge that spanned a sluggish river filled with bracken, that the city must be built like many Bard ones: concentric streets that were divided based off the status of the men and women who lived there. Unlike the Bards, though, it seemed the closer you were to the tower, the more miserable your fair. Here, in the third circle out, the street was fronted with tall, stone fences that blocked the buildings entries from sight. They slowed before one of these hidden multi-story structures and the woman descended the carriage.

"Come quick, girl," said the woman as a gate swung forward to admit them.

Maerad stepped into a tasteful cobblestone courtyard whose walls were flanked with tall ferns and a fountain that babbled in its center. It displayed a scene of a naked woman pouring a jug of water in a pool where topless mermaids splashed playfully and real koi fish flickered back and forth like tiny flames underwater. The façade of the house was black stone set with numerous pane glass windows emitting a soft, enticing glow. She could hear low laughter and music trilling from the open windows and was reminded of Silvia and Malgorn's house. It was a beautiful scene, but Maerad couldn't forget why she had been brought here, and when the gate behind her closed and the locks clicked into place, she shivered.

The madam led her swiftly across the cobblestone and up the steps to the heavy wooden door which was thrown open before she knocked. On the other side stood a young girl, perhaps ten years old, who bowed low as the older woman walked by and permitted herself a curious state at Maerad before glancing away and recovering herself.

"May I take your cloak, Mama Lena?" the girl asked politely.

"Yes, little one. And have Cookie prepare a large pot of tea. I always get the chills when I go to the Tower." She handed her cloak to the young girl who bowed and hurried off with her task. The madam, Mama Lena, shot a look at Maerad. "This way. You can meet the girls once you're clean and made proper. Besides, I need to see you."

Maerad had a brief glimpse of the brothel and was confused. She had expected half naked women to be engaged in all sorts of intimate relations with men, but instead saw sitting rooms, studies and game rooms, and these were occupied by young men and women, dressed in striking attire with gleaming hair and carefully painted faces. The few who saw her pass looked at her questioningly but returned to their conversations before Mama Lena could reprimand them. They headed up a flight of stairs and Maerad saw bedrooms, some doors open, others closed. Up another flight of stairs, and finally, they stopped before a small, bare room.

"You'll stay here," Mama Lena said, looking around and directing Maerad to stand across from her. There was a bed with a blanket, a desk with a bowl of water, a wardrobe and a window with bars that looked down on a garden. Maerad thought it was like a prison in a tower.

Mama Lena closed the door with a snap. "This house is home to almost thirty young men and women who serve as entertainers of great lords and ladies. It is not a whore house, it is not stable, and it doesn't _have_ to be a prison. You were sent here to learn the trade of a courtesan; do you know what that is?"

Maerad flushed. "A woman who sleeps with men for money."

Mama Lena shook her head hopelessly. "An educated, well-bred woman who entertains, and, if the price is right, will allow for certain familiarities. This requires extensive training. Tell me, girl, what can you do?"

Maerad's face dropped. _Did Mama Lena mean what do I know how to do with a man? _She thought of her night with Cadvan, who she had thoughtlessly groped at, and of her own aching desire for him to continue touching her. "I…don't know what you mean."

"You're a Bard, are you not? You can sing and play songs, yes?" She gleamed. "Can you dance? Can you read and write and have witty conversation?"

"I can dance a little," she said, thinking of Thorold, though Maerad guessed that wasn't what Mama Lena meant. "And sing and dancplaye. I can write a little."

Mama Lena sighed heavily. "Girls come here when they are young, six or seven, to begin their studies. All my girls can read and write, they can all dance, most can play an instrument. And you, a full-grown woman, can't even _write_?" She massaged her temples as if Maerad was being purposefully unhelpful. "And you're not even much to look at!"

That hurt a little more than Maerad cared to admit. "I didn't ask to come here."

Mama Lena looked up sharply, frustrated. "You were sent, and I'll be damned if I send you back any less than a perfect mistress. So be it, you will read and write every day, you'll learn to compose letters to suitors so as to entrance them with your words alone. And you'll dance."

Maerad didn't know what she had expected, but this was different than the worries that had plagued her since Sharma had told her he was sending her here. She tipped her head slightly. "Yes, Mama Lena."

Mama Lena sniffed at her use-name approvingly. "Good. Now, take that dress off and let me see what I've to work with."

Maerad's face dropped and she nervously crossed her arms over her chest. "What is there to see?"

"If you're to learn the skills of a courtesan you must also learn the skills of the bedroom. I want to see the shape of you. You might as well take that gown off anyway, it will have to be recut to something more suitable for your station." When Maerad still hadn't removed the dressed, Mama Lena raised her eyebrows. "Take it off or I'll rip it off myself, and then how will you explain to your lord that you cost him a gown?"

Her hands trembling slightly, Maerad undid the laces at the front of the dress, slipping the soft fabric off her shoulders and over her hips so it pooled at her feet. She thought that this was the second time someone had forced her to undress, but that this at least would be less humiliating. She hugged herself tightly against the cold of the room while Mama Lena walked a circle around her.

"You're too skinny," she said offhandedly. "And you've not the curves of a woman. Have you started your courses?"

Maerad flinched at those words because it was something she had noticed about herself. Cadvan had never made a comment about her petite frame, but she wondered if he was more attracted to a rounded woman all the same. She looked down at her toes thinking of Nerili and the glimpse she'd had of Ceredin. "Yes, for almost a year now."

"Well, that's something at least. If you can bear a child, no man can say you're not old enough to be in his bed. You'll have to learn how to stop a child, of course; no use getting yourself pregnant." She paused, lifting Maerad's hair to study her back. She clicked her tongue appreciatively at the narrow shoulders and long neck but then took a hank of Maerad's hair and sniffed it. "Your hair could stand a wash, and you must put oils in it to mask any other scents."

Maerad bit her lip to stop a rude comment. "I bathe regularly."

"Not enough it seems." Mama Lena came around Maerad and tapped her arms still crossed over her chest. When Maerad dropped them, the madam cursed in a tongue Maerad didn't know. At first, she thought it was because of the horrid Sick Moon branded into her breast, but then Mama Lena said, "And where are your breasts? You could be a boy for all I know! We'll have to lace the stomacher low and tight on you just to give a man something to look at."

"I'll have you know that men find me attractive as I am!" Maerad finally snapped. "I don't need a stomacher to fix me." Maerad didn't bother to admit she didn't know what a stomacher was.

"Men find you attractive for your youth and your innocence and your pretty face," Mama Lena said harshly, "but those go fast once you're in bed. And what is this, by the way?" She pointed accusingly at the brand, as if Maerad had done it on purpose. "You'll have to wear a square neck with lace trim to hide it. Idiot girl."

"I didn't do it on purpose," she said waspishly.

"No one gets that mark for no reason. You made someone very angry." Mama Lena stepped back and took in Maerad's front and breathed out through her nose. "It could be worse, but you're no great beauty, are you little piglet? I don't mind saying that I usually don't take girls who look like you in my house, but I suppose your fair complexion may win out for a time. The men may find you exotic."

"I'm not here for your men," Maerad said firmly. "I'm sure that information was conveyed to you." Of course, if it hadn't been, or if Mama Lena simply didn't care, Maerad had little recourse.

"If you really are a maid, then you remain untouched until your lord returns to claim you. If, as I expect, you are not, then who's to say what men had you while you were here." Her voice was level and her face dispassionate. "If you've already allowed a man improprieties, then it's nothing more than you deserve."

"I thought you said women here weren't for sale."

"I said that for the right price a woman can be bought, and only by the finest lords. If, however, you've already traded yourself there's little I can do for you. Most of my clients do not like a young girl who has known a man, and those that do will not be gentle."

The images of the night before raced before Maerad's eyes. _It doesn't matter, you're still a maid. Cadvan touched you but he didn't…my desire isn't damning. _"I'm a maid."

"We'll see." Mama Lena reached down and dipped her hands in the bowl of water on the desk, swirling them about then flicking the water droplets off. She straightened up, her face hard. "Lie back on the bed."


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter Eighteen

"Why?" Maerad croaked.

"You say you're a maid, I need to check that it's true. I have my suspicions that you're not." Mama Lena's eyes moved up and down Maerad's figure. "I wouldn't put it past a woman like you to lie about your condition."

"But check what?" Maerad demanded. "I've given you my word. There's nothing to see."

"Are you completely ignorant of your own body?" the madam demanded and Maerad heard Silvia's words from a lifetime ago: _It's a shame any girl should be kept in such ignorance of her own body. _When Silvia said it, there had been a motherly warmth, friendly empathy, Mama Lena sounded like she was accusing Maerad of a crime.

"I have sworn-"

"Lie on the bed," she growled. "Or I'll call one of the men up to tie you down."

Maerad lifted her chin defensively but sat on the bed and then carefully laid back. She stared up at the ceiling wondering what the woman meant by checking to see she was a maid, and was about to ask when she felt the small but very capable hands of Mama Lena on her knees. Maerad darted up, shocked to find the woman at the end of the bed, looking at her evenly over the tops of her knees. Maerad snatched her knees back to her chest.

"What are you doing?" she gasped, appalled.

The madam grabbed her ankles and jerked her forward. "I am checking to see you're _intact_, that no man has had you. Lie back and lift your knees, it's less painful that way."

Maerad mouthed wordlessly. What had the woman meant by _intact? _Fearfully, Maerad wondered if she would somehow know about her night with Cadvan. She had allowed him to touch her, kiss her, make her feel that primal, urgent need deep in her belly. Would Mama Lena be able to see that? She was about to say again that she was a maid, that she swore no man had touched her when the cold, probing finger of the madam poked her inner thigh. Maerad's knees closed instinctively.

"Relax your knees, idiot girl, or this hurts more."

Confusion and fear gripped Maerad and conspired to make her obedient. She let her knees droop, and stared up at the ceiling where the shadows of evening were coming in. It seemed important to say, "Please, I swear to you, I've never lain with a man. Please." Maerad hated that her voice sounded so small and scared.

"I'll know in just a moment. Now, you'll feel a little pressure," Mama Lena warned.

"What do you-"

She felt the barest touch between her legs and then something was forced inside her. Maerad yelped at the sensation and tried to wriggle away but the woman placed her other palm flat on Maerad's belly and held her still. She was watching Maerad like a hawk, curious to see how the girl responded to her touch, but she seemed almost horrified by the contact.

Mama Lena removed her finger, wiping it on Maerad's inner thigh. "I never would have thought I'd meet an untouched Bard woman. You have surprised me."

As soon as her hand was gone, Maerad scrambled back across and the bed, clutching her knees to her chest and breathing heavily. "How dare you-how dare you touch me like that!"

"Br grateful I bothered to check," Mama Lena said venomously. "There are plenty of madams who would have assumed you'd already been with a man and put a price on your head. Now we know that you are indeed a maid and will be _left _a maid. This will change how we address your training, but I think we'll manage."

Maerad was still holding her legs, trembling now. "I _told _you!"

"Silence." Mama Lena stood up and brushed her skirt suddenly businesslike. "You're too late to join us for dinner. I'll send a girl up to show you where to bathe and find something for you to wear while your wardrobe is altered." She dipped her hand on the bowl of water once more on her way out. "Tomorrow morning, you'll rise early to begin lessons, so make sure you're presentable."

Maerad watched her in stubborn silence as she left the room, locking the door behind her, and waited till her footsteps faded into the distance before uncurling herself with shuddering gasp. She stared at her knobby knees and pale thighs, terribly conflicted about what had just happened: Maerad had thought that such violations of her body were the realm of lusting men. She still didn't understand what Mama Lena had been looking for or how she knew that Maerad was still a virgin, but she was sure that the woman had not touched her with an ounce desire: it had been far too cold and methodical. A violation of her personal self, yes, but not a sexual one.

A small voice in the back of Maerad's mind was furious that her virginity mattered at all. She was still the same person whether she had been with a man or not. Cadvan wouldn't have cared. _Or did he? _she wondered feeling ignorant and obtuse. _Surely Bards didn't care that men and women had many lovers? It wouldn't have mattered to him regardless. _She felt ashamed and she didn't know why, but she was sure it shouldn't be her burden to bear.

At length, the door was unlocked and a young woman Maerad's age stood on the other side. She was striking and Maerad understood suddenly what Mama Lena had meant when she said she didn't usually take girls like Maerad. This woman was as tall as Maerad but possessed the delicate curves of a young woman, an angular face, and a fall of thick black, wavy hair that was pulled off her face but hung loose down her back. Her skin, Maerad couldn't help but notice, was a smooth, clear brown, her eyes the color of the coffee drink she'd had in Busk. She moved with leonine grace and wore a small, coy smile.

"You're the witch girl from the north," she said with absolutely no inflection, like Maerad was undeserving of conversation. She moved her eyes over Maerad's naked body and a frown creased her forehead. "Mama Lena says you need a bath and clothes."

"My name is Maerad," she said kindly, but her tone seemed lost on the girl who merely stared at her with raised eyebrows. "Who are you?"

"I live here," the woman said matter-o-factly and she held up a robe and gestured for Maerad to follow her. Then crossed the hall and the girl showed Maerad to a bathroom made all of smooth dark stone inlaid with gold. A tub was sunk into the floor and a young girl was mixing oils into the steaming water. The older girl who had brought Maerad shooed her out and pointed to the tub. "You must bathe at least once a day, more if you're working. Clients are disgusted by anything rank. Make sure to use fragrant oils like flowers, not whatever you've doused your hair in. You smell like a tree." A sharp smile curved the girl's lips.

Maerad clutched the robe tightly about her, but the girl took a seat on a stool and pointed to the bath again. "Get in already."

Conscious of the eyes on her, Maerad slipped the robe off and sank into the pool. The hot water was luxurious and the smell of lavender filled her senses. She was just about to close her eyes when small, quick hands grabbed a hank of her hair and lathered it in oil. Maerad sat upright, tried to move away, but the girl's fingers dug into her skin.

"Stop it. I'm to watch you wash to make sure you do it properly. You need to let the oil absorb into your hair, you must apply it as soon as you're in the water." When she released her, Maerad snatched up the washcloth on the side of the tub and carefully began rubbing her arms, but the young woman caught it up and swatted Maerad with it. "Idiot! First your face, then your neck and shoulders, then your body and legs. Scrub under your nails and make sure you use a separate cloth between your legs."

Maerad whipped around like a snake. "I know how to bathe!"

"Then why are you dawdling?" she demanded, eyes gleaming. "Must I show you everything? Do you not know basic hygiene? Filthy little creatures, all you northerners."

Under her careful supervision, Maerad scrubbed herself in the order directed, then dunked her head once to wash out the oil. Though she wanted to linger, the girl practically dragged her out of the bath and onto a low stool where she began to comb the tangles from her hair, making snide comments about how it was so dry it reminded her of a broom. Maerad looked away, choosing to ignore the comments, and yawned, but the girl yanked her hair.

"Pay attention! I'm going to show you how to set your hair so it dries with curls." Maerad scowled but watched in the mirror as the other girl took her damp hair and twisted it into a tight bun. She drove the pins in with such force Maerad doubted she'd be able to sleep. "Tomorrow night, you'll do this while I watch so have a care."

By the time this was done, the young girl had returned with a pile of folded silk the color of cream, which the older girl shook to reveal a night gown with wide, half sleeves, a diving neckline and intricate white detailing on the trim. She held it out to Maerad, who slipped it over her head marveling at the material that fell like cool water over her body, and was startled by the flattering appearance she caught a glimpse of in the mirror.

"Don't stare. Staring is for young boys, not proper ladies." She led Maerad back to her room where, mercifully, a bowl of soup and bread waited. Maerad fell on it like a ravenous beast while a girl watched, remotely disgusted by Maerad's behavior. "I'll come collect you tomorrow morning as soon as the sun rises so we may begin. Make yourself ready by then."

* * *

Cadvan couldn't understand how Likud was standing before him. Maerad had destroyed the Hull at the Broken Teeth, burned him with white fire, finally cast out the Dark creature that had destroyed his youth…

Likud saw the confusion of Cadvan's face and clasped his hands together. "I'm sure this is all very confusing for you, Cadvan, and I know you're exhausted from your long ride here. Perhaps a filling dinner might help clear your head, yes? Ignalt, take this Turbanskian Bard down to a room and make sure he stays there. Cadvan will stay with me."

Though most of his words were meaningless, this last part pulled Cadvan up short. "No. Saliman and I will stay together." He didn't know why, but the thought of being parted from Saliman in the midst of the Dark Army didn't sit well with him.

"Cadvan. I am your commander and you and I have so much to discuss. I think you will stay here." Likud jerked his head in the direction of the door and Ignalt led a struggling Saliman away. When the door closed Cadvan was alone with Likud. He turned back to face the Hull who simply stared at him unblinkingly. "Well, Cadvan, first things first."

Likud drove his fist into Cadvan's stomach with so much force Cadvan doubled up gasping. He grabbed a hank of Cadvan's hair and snapped his head up so he could look into his eyes. "You have been a very naughty boy, Cadvan."

Cadvan's mouth worked, trying to find the words to curse the Hull. "I never did care much for the opinions of Hulls."

"Oh, is that right?" Likud led Cadvan by his hair over to the desk. He threw him into a chair and carried on his way to the other side of the desk. Cadvan watched him from under his hair. "Well, you care now, don't you? In fact, I imagine you care very much about my opinions, because it's my opinions that our master hears, and it's my opinions that determine the fate of that wench from Pellinor."

Cadvan swallowed. "I made a deal-"

"Oh, I know!" Likud waved the letter in his face. "Would you like to read it? It's fairly explicit." Cadvan took the letter and recognized the script of Den Raven.

_**Likud,**_

_**Your loyalty is rewarded a hundredfold. Here is one you thought lost to you. I leave Cadvan in your extremely capable hands for the duration of the campaign. I assure you he is now quite biddable, and I trust you will put him to good use. **_

_**The Bard has sworn his allegiance to our cause in exchange for the life of his lover, Maerad of Pellinor, someone I believe you have met. If, however, he defies you in thought or action, alert me, and I will take the necessary steps to assure his loyalty. Though it pains me to tell you this, I ask you not damage his mind or his body beyond repair, for I will have need them. Aside from that, do with him as you will. **_

There was no signature, and suddenly, Cadvan wondered if the Nameless One _did_ sign anything. Was a name a requirement for such a practice? He read the words over a few times over, a sinking sensation growing in the pit of his stomach. Of all the Hulls he had met, all the Hulls he never wished to see again, Likud was the first. _I leave Cadvan in your capable hands…_Likud had an axe to grind with him, and now that he could not torture him into madness as he had threatened months ago, what did he have planned.?

"It must devastate you to learn that you cannot _flay my mind in madness_," Cadvan observed coolly.

"You remembered our last meeting?" Likud asked, oddly cheered by this. "I suppose you couldn't forget-those whipstings look painful. But we can do better, can't we?" Likud leaned forward, eyes scouring Cadvan's face. "Yes, a whip is quite mundane, think you not? Something suitable for the peasants, but not the great Cadvan of Lirigon."

"And our last meeting," said Cadvan evenly, "how is it you survived?"

Likud chuckled. "You know enough of my abilities to slip between this realm and the shadowplains. Don't misunderstand me, that blast your woman released nearly destroyed me, but I managed to evade the worst of the damage by slipping out of this realm. The wright and the other Hulls, they were not so lucky I hear, and my brothers and I, we want our revenge for what that bitch did to us." His eyes flashed at the mention of Maerad, but then he smiled again. "So, you've found yourself a new lover? My, my, you do go through them, but you seem to be taking better care of this one."

Cadvan looked away. "She can take care of herself."

"Is that why you had to trade yourself to our master?" Likud showed his sharp teeth. "I am keen to see miss Maerad again. Tell me, has she changed much? Is she still the lovely little songbird she was before, or has the Dark extinguished that too?"

"She is as bright and full of Light as ever," Cadvan said stiltedly.

"Maybe when this war is over, I'll pay her a little visit myself. I'm not sure which of you two I hate more." Likud pursed his pale, thin lips and studied Cadvan closely. "No, no it's you. The traitor who stole our secrets. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised, a cobbler's son made Bard, you stole their secrets too, didn't you? You slunk into the bastions of the Light and convinced those Bards you were to be trusted so they gave you their knowledge. Then you took your newfound powers and turned on them. You know, Cadvan, you remind me of Sharma."

Cadvan's face had gone red at the comparison. "I never betrayed the Light-"

"Intentionally, I'm sure. But now, now you're mine to command, and I think I know exactly how to use you. It is a pity, though, I had such plans for you when this war was said and done." Likud sat down, its black cloak fluttering out like a cloud. "I had it all planned out, Cadvan. I was going to break your mind, drive you to utter madness, make you think you were dog. Then break your arms and legs and make you crawl around on the ground like a beast. You were going to be my little pet."

Though he trained his face to betray no emotion, privately Cadvan was horrified by the future the Hull had planned for him. He had no doubt that had things been different, had he never met Maerad and been drawn into the plot he was now, Likud would have tracked him down. He laid his hands flat on his thighs to buy himself time.

"I'm sorry I continue to be a thorn in your paw."

Likud chuckled. "You know, Cadvan, in some ways, it is exactly what I expected of you. It is so…_normal_ for you to betray me like this."

Cadvan raised an eyebrow. "Normal?"

"Young men, they rebel against their fathers-"

"You are _not_ my father," Cadvan said in an icy voice.

"The father of your magery," Likud amended. "Think about it, Cadvan. It was me who forced you to reveal your Gift and flee to the Bards of Lirigon. You would never have been allowed to join the School had I not brought that out of you. Then, when you summoned the Bone Queen, you had to call on your greatest powers to defeat her. Even now, we are once again thrown together, and I will require you use the might of your Gift once more. You are tested in fire, Cadvan, and always you come out better for it. I am the fire." At a complete loss for words, Cadvan just stared. Likud laughed. "You are a product of my Dark flame, Cadvan. Everything you are is a result of my intervention. You are my son."

"Fathers don't hurt their sons," Cadvan pointed out.

"Weak sons come from weak fathers, you will be great because I made you." Likud leaned back in his seat and pressed his long, white fingers into pyramids. "So, the question remains, how will I test you this time?" Cadvan chose not to respond and instead stared straight at the Hull. If he was going to be tortured, he would face it head on.

Before Likud could continue, though, there was another knock on the door and a young girl came in. She couldn't have been older than twelve, though she was tall for her age. Her hair was dark red and hung in a straight sheet around her round face. Her dull, brown eyes were down-turned when she entered so she didn't have to look at the Hull. She was trembling, and one hand clung to the doorknob like a vice. Cadvan stared at her and noticed the faint glow around her, the telltale sign of the Gift, perhaps not a great Gift, but enough for her to know she was in the presence of a monster. She checked on the spot when she saw Cadvan who must have been emitting a faint, warm glow and approached the desk near him. She bowed.

"You wished for dinner, my lord?" she asked Likud.

He surveyed the girl, relishing the effect he had on her. "Not for me, but for my dear friend here. Go fetch some of the wine in the cellar and tell the cook to prepare something _eclectic _for our guest. Something he could only get here." The girl glanced at Cadvan, who offered her the most encouraging smile he could, and she dipped a bow before scurrying from the room.

"Did you choose her specifically because she can sense what you are?" Cadvan asked angrily.

"You saw that, did you? Yes, she has a touch of the Gift, just enough to know that I'm not how I look. When I found her and her mother and sister cowering behind this desk, she screamed like I'd burned her."

Cadvan frowned. "She is the mayor's daughter?"

"_Was_ the mayor's daughter. He's dead now."

"And you make her live in the house where you slaughtered her family and hung them up like a flag?" Cadvan's voice trembled with fury.

"I didn't want to traumatize the poor child anymore. I thought that if she were at least allowed to stay in her own room with her own things, she might recover a bit." Likud's voice held no concern, just a dry humor. "She makes for a useful little servant. She knows where everything in the house is, knows the lay of the surrounding land quite well, and when I'm done with her, I could probably sell her and turn a nice profit. She'll be quite pretty when she's older I'm sure."

Cadvan pitied the child all the more. "Is it your desire to travel through all of Annar and seven kingdoms ruining the lives of innocent children?"

"You were not quite innocent," Likud said succulently. "And no, I'm not going to ruin her life. When the war is over, I'll sell her to a Grin or some sort and she can go on living a perfectly normal life away from the Black Army."

There was a future of misery in those simple words. "Though that death would have been too merciful for the likes of you, I wish Maerad had killed you."

"Careful, Cadvan, you sound quite vengeful. That's not the way of the Light."

There was a knock on the door and the girl had returned carrying a bottle of dark red wine and two glasses. Likud gestured with exaggerated politeness to the table where she set the glasses down and held out the wine for inspection. Cadvan had to fight the urge to lay a protective hand on the girl because she was quaking so powerfully.

"And is this the good wine, girl?" Likud asked interestedly. "This man is very important to me, I won't have anything but the best served tonight."

"It was papa's favorite," the girl whispered.

"Oh, was it? And where did your father procure such a fine vintage?"

"He distilled it himself, my lord." The girl gripped the bottle so tight at the mention of her father that her knuckles went white. Out of the window behind the Hull, three ropes vanished out of sight, and on the end of those ropes the girl knew her father, mother and sister dangled.

"How perfect," the Hull said, winking at Cadvan. "A heavy pour then, I think we'll be here a long while."

The girl's hand shook as she began to pour, and the bottle knocked one of the glasses; it made an alarmingly loud clink and Likud's eyes flashed. Before the Hull could speak, Cadvan's hand shot out and took the wine bottle firmly from her. He flashed her a brief smile and said cajolingly, "Why don't you hold the glasses and I'll pour? A wine this fine, you don't want to miss a drop."

The girl nodded her head slowly and took the stem of the glass in both hands like she was bracing for a blow. Cadvan caught her eye as he filled each glass, and she leaned closer to him, gravitating to the warm glow she sensed in him. When they were both filled, Cadvan lifted a glass to her in a kindly salute and sipped the wine.

"Your father had excellent taste," Cadvan said warmly. "I haven't had a finer wine in all of Annar. You should be proud of his legacy."

The girl tipped her head, not entirely certain what Cadvan meant but comforted by his crooked smile. She bowed herself from the room, muttering about dinner and vanished. Likud had watched the exchange with the girl with interest.

"You have quite a way with her," Likud said at last, taking his own glass and sipping the wine. It didn't taste like much to him. "I find it so difficult to manage children, they vex me to no end."

"I suppose the snouts are a fine example of your care," Cadvan said indifferently.

"You saw them, did you? I admit, child soldiers were a stroke a genius on the Nameless One's behalf. No Bard has the strength of will to kill a child. I would be remiss if I said they would not be instrumental in our war against your kind. I look forward to seeing them in action."

Cadvan recalled the cur kill he had seen the previous day and cringed at their ferocity. He did not envy the Bards who would have to meet them in battle. "And when will action commence?"

"We leave in two days. I hope to be at Ettinor in a week, Lirigon a week hence." Likud watched Cadvan's face carefully. "I remember the last time I was in Lirigon, when you and the poet and the old man cast me out of the First Bard. Tell me, are they still there?"

That Likud had the nerve to mention Dernhil made Cadvan furious. "No," was all he said.

"A pity, I would have liked to thank them properly for that little display. I had the pleasure of seeing Pellinor burned, though I never did fully learn what became of the worthless First Bard. You have her daughter, tell me, what happened to the mother?"

Cadvan had no desire to tell Likud how Milana had died and instead shrugged. "I don't know."

"Yes, you do," Likud said sharply. "Don't lie to me, Cadvan. What happened to that little slattern? Tell me, or I'll tell our master you've been dishonest and disloyal."

"She died," Cadvan said. When Likud continued to stare at him hungrily, he added, "as a slave."

Likud snapped his fingers. "The great Milana of Pellinor became a slave? And now her daughter is one too! There's a lesson in that somewhere, not that you Bards ever care to notice. And soon, the rest of you upstart mongrels will be slaves, too. And you, Cadvan, are you looking forward to your homecoming?"

"I would rather be locked in a dungeon."

"So melodramatic," Likud teased. "I wouldn't worry too much, I don't trust you in battle so you'll stay out of the fray until the very end. In Innail, though, I have a task for you."

Cadvan took a long drawn on his wine. "Then what will I do while you lay siege to the city?"

Likud waved a hand carelessly. "You can watch."

Cadvan scowled into his glass, but the door to the office opened once more and the girl returned carrying a plate that she placed before Cadvan. Likud snapped his fingers are her and her eyes darted up. "See to the man from Turbansk, I believe he was put in your sister's room. Get him some food and water and attend to his needs." Likud caught the girl's eye with a narrowed, threatening look. "Whatever they are."

She drew a sharp breath and Cadvan shook his head, annoyed more than anything else. Whatever awful stories the Hull had been whispering to the girl, the only thing Saliman would ask for was a bath. The girl left looking pale as a ghost and Likud drummed his fingers on the table.

"Looks good. I personally don't find food very appetizing at all these days." There was a note of something in the Hull's voice, something sly and cunning and excited too.

Cadvan studied the plate. It was some sort of meat swimming in a thick, red sauce. He sniffed and could only detect an overpowering odor of spices and herbs. He picked up his fork under the eyes of Likud and pushed a chuck of the meat around his plate until it was thoroughly soaked in the sauce. When he speared it, blood leaked out of the rare meat.

"I'm not a fan of undercooked cuts," Cadvan said, turning the hunk of meat around on his fork.

"You'll want to try this. I'm told by the chef it's _unique_. Something a Bard would never have the pleasure of eating." Though it wasn't a direct order, Cadvan sensed Likud's will almost like a physical thing.

_Well, it can't be poisoned, _Cadvan thought, and put the whole bite in his mouth. Likud watched him chew the entire piece without blinking, which unnerved Cadvan quite a bit. The meat didn't taste familiar and he ruled out venison and cow and horse quickly. It wasn't as lean as a bird, so no duck or chicken or turkey or quail. He placed his fork down and took another sip of wine.

"It doesn't taste like anything," he said flatly. "I think your chef has lied to you."

"I told you, a delicacy no Bard has ever had the pleasure of trying." Likud raised his eyebrows. "Myself, I must be in the mood for it, and even then, you have to be careful. We check the stock carefully for disease or signs of illness. If prepared poorly, the meat can be quite dangerous. Have no fear, though, the chef gave you only the best cuts."

Cadvan pushed the plate away suddenly sure he didn't want to know what he had just ate. Perhaps it wasn't poisoned, but he didn't trust the Hull not to give me meat that was off, just to give him stomach upset for the rest of the journey. "I'm not hungry."

"Finish it." Likud leaned back in the chair with the glass of wine. "You won't leave this room till you finish it. Waste not, want not, Cadvan."

"Then I shall want for nothing. I'm not hungry," he repeated.

"No. You will finish this meal, here, now, in front of me."

"And why is it so important that I eat?" Cadvan considered throwing the plate in the fire. "Can't let me starve to death, I suppose?"

"That is true, you are looking distinctly haggard. And the reason you will eat it is because this is the only thing I will give you to eat for the duration of the campaign and I want to make sure you find it palatable."

"What is it?" Now Cadvan felt his temper rising.

"It's not very polite to refer to people as a _what_, Cadvan."

Cadvan's words froze in his throat, his mouth going dry. He stared at the Hull for a minute straight, not a word exchanged between them. His eyes dropped to the plate before him, the mysterious meat that was neither poultry nor ungulate, the flavor that was entirely masked by the stew it was in. When he looked back up, Likud was smiling a true, broad smile that stretched his face uncomfortably but most assuredly reached his eyes. Cadvan could taste vomit in his mouth.

"Don't you dare be sick!" Likud ordered, standing suddenly. "You'll finish this plate and be grateful I fed you at all."

Cadvan shoved the plate away and made to stand but Likud was faster and Cadvan weak from travel. The Hull grabbed him by the shoulders and slammed him into his seat. He dragged the plate over and tried to shove Cadvan's face in it. The Bard resisted with some success but now that he knew what he had eaten, even the smell made him ill.

"You'd better get used to it now, because I swear it's the only thing you'll eat until you're back in Dagra!" Likud chose a different tactic and grabbed a cut of the meat. He forced it into Cadvan's mouth and held his hand over his mouth and nose, the other, massaging his throat. He cooed in Cadvan's ear. "Just swallow it, Cadvan. It's just animal flesh, like a cow or a bird or a fish. There was just so much of it lying in the streets…we couldn't waste it when we have an army to feed. You understand necessity."

Cadvan thought he'd rather pass out then swallow the chunk of human flesh in his mouth, but Likud must have known this, because it said, "Fine, don't eat. It will suit me better if you didn't because I hate that Pellinor brat and I want her to suffer. If you don't eat, I'll tell the Nameless One you're being unruly and unmanageable. I'll tell him you don't obey my orders and you waste resources. I'll tell him you deserve to be punished. How about that, Cadvan?"

Cadvan tried to jerk himself free of Likud's grip, but he knew that was pointless. Refusing Likud wasn't an option at this point. The Hull watched him slowly chew and swallow the meat, taking a gasp of air when he was done. Likud eased his grasp on Cadvan's throat but switched his hand to hair. He ruffled it playfully.

"It's not so bad, is it, Cadvan?" He held up the fork before Cadvan's eyes. "If it's cooked right, why, you don't even know what you're eating, do you?"

Cadvan took the fork but hesitated over the plate. It was a _person_. This had been someone not long ago and now he was eating them. He lowered his gaze in unbearable disgust and looked at the table, but he could feel Likud behind him waiting for him to take the next bite.

_This is part of the price you pay. If this is what keeps Maerad safe, be grateful it isn't worse, _he thought.

The next forkful wasn't as bad so long as Cadvan focused on the smell of the herbs. He swallowed, barely chewing, barely tasting, hurriedly eating the next mouthful. Likud moved to the side of the desk and learned against it so he could watch Cadvan eat. It gave him perverse pleasure to see a man who was touted as a champion of the Light eat another human. It reminded him of animals that scavenged dead flesh.

When the plate was finished, Cadvan threw the fork with unnecessary force. "Are you happy now? Was that entertaining?" His mouth burned from the spices.

"Cadvan, I was merely concerned for your health. I imagine Ignalt didn't feed you well these last few days and I wanted to make sure you had a full meal. A man needs food." Likud inspected the plate. "You finished that quickly enough, though. I'll make sure the next serving is larger."

Cadvan shuddered but leveled Likud with a dark look. "If we're done with our meal, perhaps I can be released to my bed?"

"No, not quite," Likud said a little sadly. "I'm afraid there just isn't a bed available for you right now, not with the Turbanskian in the only spare room."

"Then put me in the stable."

"No, I don't think so," Likud said slowly. "It really did break my heart that the Nameless One got to you first, that you've somehow won yourself a respite from me purely because you take the Pellinor woman to bed. So, if I can't have you how I want, I'll settle for this." Likud pointed to a rug before a fire grate. "You can sleep here, before my fire, where I can keep an eye on you."

"I'm not a dog," Cadvan said in a low voice.

"You've no idea how much that disappoints me." Likud pointed to the rug and hearth again. "You'll sleep here like the loyal beast that you are."

Cadvan shoved his chair back, and stood furiously, his hand was on Arnost, his eyes flashing. "I am tired of these games."

Likud lazily extended his hand and Cadvan was thrown backwards. He crashed into one of the bookshelves and a few stray tomes struck his head. He reached for Arnost again, but Likud was there, and he grabbed Cadvan by the arm, pulling him toward the fire. Cadvan struggled to break the grasp, but the Hull threw him on the rug. Before Cadvan could stand, he kicked him, and continued to kick him until he curled up in a ball to protect himself. When the assault finally stopped, Likud knelt and reached around Cadvan, feeling for his face. He ran his fingers along Cadvan's lip where there was blood, and then sucked the blood off his fingers. He rubbed his back contemplatively.

"This is the new order, Cadvan. I warned you all those years ago in Pellinor that it would come to be but none of you listened." He could feel the rise and fall of Cadvan's body as he took deep breaths. "I wish you had reconsidered your alliances these past years, but you chose the losing side, and now you must be made to understand that." Likud stood then and nudged him with the toe of his boot. "Tonight, you sleep here, and if I come back tomorrow morning and find you've moved off this rug you and your little woman will both pay dearly."

Cadvan said nothing, but he heard Likud chuckle to himself and take his seat behind his desk, flipping through papers thoughtfully and finishing his wine.

* * *

The sharp knock on Maerad's door jerked her from sleep and she snapped upright. The door was thrown open and in marched the beautiful woman from the night before, a gown and underclothes tossed over one arm. She strode past the bed to the curtains drawn around the barred windows and threw them back so the light of early morning washed the room. She snapped her fingers at Maerad who was still in bed.

"In this house, we rise before the sun and make ourselves ready for the day." She proffered the gown. "It is unseemly for a woman to be abed if the sun is out."

She didn't leave as Maerad carefully peeled the silk nightgown off and examined the underclothes. She recognized the stiff, ribbed corset, but as soon as she laced it, the girl stepped forward, slapping her hands. "No," she said, poking Maerad's belly so she was forced to inhale. "Take a deep breath and then tie the corset, it gives you a slim waist, makes your figure more inviting." As she began to tie the corset, Maerad gasped at each sharp snap of the strings, and when she was done, could barely breathe. When she spared a glance down, however, she noticed her cleanly cinched waist, her inviting pale breasts that peaked above the lace like half-moons.

The gown was blue, like the dress Silvia had given Maerad months ago, but the cut was different. There were no sleeves, and the neck, trimmed in light blue lace, dove dramatically down her front. The bodice was stitched with a simple geometric pattern and the skirt fell in loose layers and pooled on the floor, fluttering seductively in the breeze from the open window.

"This will suit while your dresses are recut," said the girl while she pulled the pins from Maerad's hair. It tumbled down in luscious curls, smelling of vanilla and lavender, and Maerad ran her hands through it before the girl tied back the front. "From now on, you must be presentable when I come to collect you, or we'll lose the morning entirely." She turned and headed for the hall, Maerad following her after a beat.

They were headed for the bottom floor and as they went, the girl spoke. "You will take your lessons in the morning: reading and writing and conversation-" her eyes danced at this "-if last night is any indication, you'll need extensive training in how to have a polite, interesting conversation. In the afternoons, you'll learn comportment, and in the evenings, you will assist the other girls in the house with their patrons." They had entered a low kitchen where a bowl of porridge with cold toast and water waited. She studied Maerad shrewdly. "Is it true that you are untouched? Not some witch magic, but truly a maid?"

Maerad chewed her porridge slowly, making the other girl wait on her. "It's rather rude to ask a question of such a personal nature."

"Not here, it isn't," she responded sharply. "Here's it the business of the house and everyone in it. If you _can_ work, you should be."

Maerad mulled this fact over as she took another bite. "I wasn't sent here to work," she said testily, thinking of Sharma's curses at her family.

The other girl started at the gravity in Maerad's tone but smiled narrowly. "Oh? Then did your betrothed take offense to your appearance, your skill or both?"

The memory of Cadvan stroking her back and kissing her neck flashed before Maerad's eyes. She placed the spoon down with unnecessary force. "You have no idea who I am or why I'm here. Keep your muddy thoughts to yourself."

Maerad seemed a small, unassuming women, so when her voice took such a ferocious tone, when her eyes flashed like fire and the air seemed to crackle with energy, the other girl started. To her, Maerad was a witch, but a tame witch they had been assured. Now, as Maerad eyed her darkly from under her hair, the other girl got the sense she was in a room with someone who wasn't entirely human. This woman with the pale skin and blistering blue eyes felt like a wild thing forced into the form of a woman.

"Whatever the reason you were sent, you're here to learn our trade.," the girl said finally, fingering the skirt of her dress nervously. "And that means we have expectations in this house."

Maerad smiled to herself, pleased with her anger. She wondered fleetingly if she had looked like Cadvan when his face darkened, could the other woman sense her changing mood? "I'll do my best to remember that. Now, what do they call you?"

"Lyla," the girl said haughtily, regaining some of her composure. She lifted her chin proudly. "I've been here since I was six training with Mama Lena, and I'm no apprentice either! I'm a proper consort, with all the virtues and gifts that brings." She raised her eyebrows to Maerad as if daring her to ask what _gifts _being a consort brought, but Maerad had little interest. "I've a Grin, a high lord in Den Raven, who comes to see me once a week."

Maerad was on the verge of telling her that a Grin, no matter how wealthy or powerful, paled in comparison to Cadvan, but stopped herself. There was no use in losing her temper here. She doubted Lyla knew what a Bard was, how such men were honorable beyond compare, or how deeply she cared for Cadvan.

"That must be a pleasure," was all Maerad managed, feeling her loneliness anew. She quickly finished her breakfast and Lyla led her, to her surprise and delight, into a study filled with books.

Here, a small table had been set aside, and there were paper and ink and quill upon it. Maerad took the seat while Lyla strolled along the walls of the library, eyeing different titles with professional curiosity. She took down three books and laid them out before Maerad. Two of them were books of love sonnets and poems, the third had no title or image on the cover, merely a blank, black bound book. Lyla pointed to the first two.

"You will read from these every day and learn the courtly language of seduction. You will write letters to your lord that are both intelligent and intriguing, for that is the mark of a good mistress. It is not enough to crawl into his bed, you must be charming and witty and keep him entertained." She produced a letter from the bodice of her gown and laid it flat before Maerad. "This is an example of fine letter writing. Read and see if you can't think of your own."

"And this book?" Maerad asked, gesturing to the black book.

"We'll come to that later. First, your writing. I'll be back in an hour and I expect something decent."

Maerad scowled as Lyla left. In general, Maerad enjoyed reading and writing though she was well aware she had little skill. This, however, was an insult to her pride as Lyla's letter, Maerad thought, was a waste of good paper. She frittered away half the letter describing her most recently sojourn to the square to observe the public trials and better educate herself on the current state of political affairs. She mentioned rebel lords and a threat in the north, but insisted that she barely understood affairs of state and hoped that he, the Grin to whom she had written, did and would explain it to her properly over their next meeting. She then went into excruciating detail to describe a book of poems she had recently read, venturing a vague opinion that this particular book was better than the one he had previously given her, but only in that the author seemed to better appreciate a woman's love of things besides flowers, which she jokingly explained the former book did nothing else. Finally, she finished with a battery of dull questions for the man.

When Maerad considered writing a letter even remotely similar to Cadvan, she snorted with laughter picturing the face he would make and the letter he would send back. _Maerad, what is the drabble? I didn't send you to Dernhil to learn the high arts of reading and writing so you could ask me whether the dry air irritates my face. Please, next time, write something with more substance. Literally, _any _substance would be better than this. Your underwhelmed mentor and friend, Cadvan._

She set the letter aside still smiling and slowly began to pick her way through the poems and found them dull and monotonous. They went on at length comparing women to a myriad of objects or animals: flowers, moonbeams, candle flames, light on the water, birds, panthers, unicorns…Maerad, sitting in her uncomfortable dress, trapped in Dagra and thinking of the army even now marching on her friends and loved ones, felt like none of these things. She felt like a caged beast.

_Not fragile like a flower, fragile like a furious wolf, _she thought, and wrote that down for good measure.

She continued to skim the poems and found them laughably dramatic. "What's in a name," she muttered, reading one line and frowning. She thought of her own Name, that had bound her to Sharma and the Song before she had even been born, and she thought of Cadvan's Name, that had made him a slave, and she thought of the Sharma's lack of Name that had freed him from death. _Power, power is what's in a name, _she decided ruefully and shoved the book away as unbearable sadness engulfed her.

When Lyla returned to find that Maerad had written one horrendous line, she was furious. Maerad opened her mouth, but Lyla struck her across the face and shoved the book under her nose again. "You'll read this tonight when your chores are done and write me a proper letter, do you understand?"

Maerad flushed. "My lord does not want letters!" she snapped and then threw Lyla's letter back in her face. "Especially not letters like this. Who cares about some book of poems a man gave you! Who cares about whether the sun is too hot!"

"Idiot girl." Lyla snapped the letter back and took her chin in a firm grip. "You think I have a care for such things? Of course not. The book he gave me was dull and childish, but I didn't read it for my pleasure. I read it for his! I don't ask after his health for my pleasure, I ask for his! Everything I do, it is in service to his pleasure, but he must not know that. That is the trick, if you can make him think his pleasure is yours, then he will love you."

"How can you call me an idiot girl when you make your entire life about a man!" Maerad stood now, feeling power tingling at her fingertips. "Have you no respect for yourself?"

Lyla laughed coldly. "I do not know what world it is you live in, little witch, but what makes you think I can afford to pursue my own pleasures?"

Maerad's prepared retort died on her lips as the crushing reality of Lyla's words hit her. As a Bard, Maerad has been born with a right to an education, a home, and her freedom, but no woman in Den Raven was born to that. No woman in Den Raven could choose to follow her own interests because her own interests were tied irrevocably to the men that managed them. In fact, Maerad realized, here in the brothel was the only pace she had seen where the women spent their days as they pleased, could read and write with skill, had their own possessions. Lyla may have been bound in service to a Grin, but that service afforded her freedom most women could only dream of.

_Just like you. A Grin is her freedom and protection, just as yours is Cadvan. Perhaps Sharma called you a whore rightly. _Maerad bowed her head, biting her lip. "It is wrong of me to assume such things," she said stiltedly.

Lyla's face was still set in a glower, her eyes dark. "It is."

Maerad glanced up at her quickly. "I'm sorry."

If Maerad had been looking, she wouldn't have seen Lyla's face soften marginally. She said, "From the outside looking in, it only seems like a foolish game, but you have to realize what it is you're _really_ doing. If you really want your freedom you need to convince a man you're tame. Make him think that even if you were free to choose, you'd still choose him. Do you understand?"

Maerad eyed the letter unhelpfully. "I don't think pretty words will buy me my freedom."

"It's not always words," Lyla said cryptically and brushed her hair back. She took a seat opposite Maerad and gestured to the other book. "I think today we'll skip the conversation. I'm certainly in no mood to entertain wordplay."

"But you are in the mood to entertain a different type of play?" Maerad asked at once.

Lyla raised her eyebrows appreciatively. "Perhaps we'll make a proper woman of you yet. This book here is a rare text, detailing aspects of sexuality and eroticism." When Maerad blushed, Lyla laughed sweetly. "No need for that charming blush. It is not exclusively or predominantly a manual, though there is plenty of that, but a guide to all aspects pertaining to pleasure-oriented conduct. Yes, you would find information regarding the various methods of love-making, but also such things as how to pursue and acquire a partner, how to comport oneself, how to be attractive, the duties and privileges of marriage, the duties and privileges of courtesans. The first and last are most important to you and where we will begin."

Maerad stared at the book like it might grow fangs and bite her. "Can a book really teach that?"

"Practice makes perfect, but you must go untouched," Lyla said decidedly. "Instead, we will make do with the current faculties. For now, you'll read and pay close attention to the section detailing male pleasure. In the meantime, I'll find a way around your virginity."

Maerad wasn't sure she liked the sound of that but fingered the cover of the book. "Did you read this?"

"Naturally, I read it all." Lyla rolled her eyes at Maerad's apprehension. "Don't look so worried. Reading the book doesn't steal your virginity. How do you hope to serve your lord if you're afraid of him?"

Maerad wasn't afraid of being with Cadvan, but she realized that she'd rather just have someone like Silvia sit down with her and tell her what to expect. Lyla made some excuse about procuring a specific type of tea leaf she needed that evening and left Maerad alone with the book. She opened it to the first page but found no words so she skipped to the next and next until she found a table of contents. It was almost like the book was taunting her, forcing her to go farther and farther. She spent some time slowly reading the introduction to the text which detailed the importance of pursuing life's pleasures and then flicked to a section marked for her.

It was lucky there was no one in the room with her, Maerad thought, as she studied the text, for her face had gone bright red. She was a slow reader, but by virtue of her Bard Gift, she had excellent recall of the things she had seen. It began by detailing something called the art of seduction which emphasized the many things a woman might do prior to coupling that would bring her partner pleasure. She had thought herself rather well versed in such things, having kissed Cadvan quite a bit, but the extent was shocking and Maerad realized that mere kissing on the mouth or neck might as well have been nothing. There were descriptions involving her hands or her mouth, how to place one's body to best compliment her feminine curves, the importance of eye contact, even sounds a woman might make that would arouse a man. Thinking back on their last night, Maerad realized that instinctively, she had moved in such a way as to excite Cadvan, but this was far more explicit and more adventurous.

As far as the actual act, there were diagrams of various positions, each meant to stimulate a different part of the man's anatomy. Maerad reflected ruefully of her own limited knowledge: she had always thought it would be similar to the animals she had tended in Gilman's Cot, with the woman below the man and facing away. One particularly intriguing image showed the woman sitting astride the man's hips like one might a horse and she thought of the days she'd spent in the saddle. However, the image of riding horse and sitting in a similar position with Cadvan was so incongruous that Maerad had to repress a laugh.

She continued through the book for the rest of the afternoon until Lyla returned to collect her. "You've made good use of your time I see," she said, eyeing the dent Maerad had made in the book. "And I expect you to be able to recall certain positions from memory, but reading can only take you so far. I think you will have to get some proper practice of form. Come to the tearoom and we can begin."

Maerad hoped that being in a tearoom meant she wouldn't be spending time with any men and followed Lyla to a spacious a room that looked out over the garden. Late afternoon light streamed in through three enormous windows so that the wooden floors gleamed. There were a few small tables arranged in random fashion about a bare hearth and a large settee sitting before the center window. One of the tables, Maerad noticed, had a tray with tea pot, a steady stream of steam issued from the spout, and teacups.

Lyla strolled around the room, moving in graceful, swaying steps. "Before you learn how to manage yourself in the bedroom, you must learn to manage yourself in public. You need to understand the subtle art of flirtation."

"And that involves tea?" Maerad asked dryly.

"Before you allow yourself to be bedded, you need to present yourself as a proper woman who can entertain a man with your wit," Lyla said as though Maerad had not spoken. "There is a certain skill to having conversation, to serving a man a drink, to walking about." Here, her eyes flashed with the expression Maerad was beginning to recognize as Lyla's silent laughter at Maerad's expense. "Walk in a circle about the room."

Maerad completed an ungainly circle. She was sore from the beating Sharma had given her and the corset was so constrictive that she couldn't bend. She came to a stop before Lyla who looked appalled.

"That was horrendous," she said simply. "You look like you're in pain."

"I _am_ in pain," Maerad snapped.

"Well, no man wants to see it. You should move with the grace of a dancer, not barrel about like a dairy cow. You're a woman! Your hips should sway-a man looks for that. And you must press your shoulders down, then you'll have a long neck. And smile!" She said all this very fast, walking so smoothly before Maerad that she seemed to float. Maerad hated her for her grace. "Do it again."

This time, Maerad exaggerated her hip movements and Lyla cried out like she'd been bitten. She shook her head, grabbed Maerad hips, and directed them in the motion she wanted. It was embarrassing and Maerad bristled at the girl's behavior, and, even more frustrating, it was difficult to walk the way Lyla ordered because of the corset and billowy skirt. After, Lyla flitted about Maerad, pressing her shoulders down, forcing her chin up, reminding her to smile, showing her how to turn so the skirt swirled about her legs attractively…It went on and on, and once Lyla seemed to have bestowed all her advice on Maerad, she made her walk circle after circle around the room as the shadows of evening crept across the floor.

Occasionally, other girls would walk by and pause to watch; a few laughed at her poor display, but many were merely curious as to the presence of witch from the north in their house. Though some of them were younger than Maerad, she noticed bitterly that they had managed to master the art of walking and she had to watch their _seductively swaying_ hips vanish down the hall while she continued in circle after circle. She despised them and their well-trained grace all the more.

Lyla finally called a stop. "We'll have to do this every day to make something of you. And I'll have a mirror sent to your room so you can practice your smile. It must be playful and mysterious at once, men like the tiniest hint of a challenge. Now, let us try serving tea."

Again, what Maerad had thought would have been a mundane task was actually leaden with meaning. Lyla explained that serving food and drinks to a man was an opportunity to demonstrate her skills as a homemaker, and she insisted men liked women with a touch of domestication. When Maerad made another snide comment about tea, Lyla slapped her hands and said that had she bothered to read the black book properly, she'd realize that there were many ways to make a man feel comfortable and cared for and they all excited him. It was also a chance, Lyla continued, to flirt just a little: how one moved her wrists, where she positioned herself at the table during serving, how she could bend at the waist to provide a potential suitor with the best view of her figure…there were so many small opportunities to impress a man.

Maerad, who was now thoroughly bored, slammed her cup down and poured the tea so droplets splashed on the tablecloth. Lyla stared at the tea now staining the cloth and massaged her temples.

Maerad smiled up pleasantly at her. "I am quite sure my lord does not care for my ability to pour him a drink."

"He probably thinks you were raised in a barn." Maerad smirked at that, considering that Cadvan had indeed found her in a bard. "He'll be embarrassed to bring you in public. You do a disservice to him, you should be ashamed of yourself."

"There are worse things, I think, than how I comport myself around the dinner table."

"Not for a proper mistress, and that's what you are." Lyla turned away, unable to maintain a straight face. The witch girl was wearing on her nerves. "I cannot train you if you insist on acting like this, and you must know that if I don't, Mama Lena says she'll send you to a proper whorehouse. They won't care that you're a maid there, with your complexion you'd make them too much money not to work."

Maerad glanced up at the narrow back of Lyla sharply, forcing her anger down. "I do not want to go there."

"Then _pay attention_! I don't know who you are outside of this house, what great woman you might be among your own people, but here, you are my apprentice. If I say something matters, it matters. Do you understand that?"

Maerad sighed, looking down at her blue skirt and wishing fervently that she had Silvia with her. "I understand that."

Lyla shook her head and tiredly waved her to the door. "Go to your room and eat. I'll collect you in a little bit for the evening's entertainments. Mama Lena says you can play the lyre, yes? You'll be in the sitting room with me and a few of the other senior girls, playing music while we amuse our men."

Maerad breathed a private sigh of relief at not having to actually interact with any of the men who might come. "I'd like that," she said, and she meant it: Maerad hadn't played in weeks.

"Do clean your face, though, and a put a little lavender oil on your neck and wrists! You must be presentable even if you are only a fly on the wall."


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter Nineteen

Cadvan was woken by a familiar voice, warm and low in his ear. He jolted upright, reaching for Arnost but remember belatedly that the sword was across the room where he'd dropped after the scuffle with Likud. He ran his hand through his hair instead, pushing it from his eyes. Saliman's handsome, worried face stared back.

"Cadvan, how are you? Have you been here these last two days?" he searched his friend's face for signs of distress but saw none. He glanced back to where the desk stood, occupied by Likud. "Was the Hull here the entire time?"

Cadvan turned to glower at the Hull, carefully feeling his tender ribs. His initial inspection after the first night hadn't revealed any broken bones, but they were still sore. "I don't know that Likud left, he may have been here the whole time." Though Cadvan had seen enough of the Hull over the last two days, he had done his best to ignore it, instead, sitting on the rug and sleeping, waking only occasionally to eat the horrid meal under Likud's watchful gaze.

Saliman saw the way he held his sides. "Are your ribs hurt?"

"Most likely," Cadvan said shortly. Though Likud was at the desk, now pouring over maps of the surrounding country, Cadvan guessed he was listening closely. "And you, my friend, how have you been?"

Saliman scowled. "Locked in a bedroom for two days straight with nothing but a terrified girl for company. This place is so rank with the Dark it makes me sick. I suppose, if I've been summoned, this means we're moving?"

"I think as much," Cadvan guessed. He turned his gaze to Likud who was determinedly not watching them, but there was a smile on his face that suggested he had heard Saliman's comments. "Are we to leave today?"

Likud looked up, pretending to be startled. "Oh, you're awake? I thought you'd sleep all day, Cadvan." When both the Bards maintained blank, hostile faces, the Hull continued. "Yes, I want to be on the road by dawn, we've wasted too much time here. Lirigon awaits."

Saliman watched Likud narrowly. "It's a long road from here to there. Lirigon may yet have time."

Cadvan appreciated the Bard's confidence, but privately he thought that the School stood no chance. "Perhaps Innail can prepare."

Likud ignored their talk and stood, shuffling his papers together. "Come, my little Bards, let us get the horses. I want to ride ahead of the rabble, I hate getting dust on my cloak."

Cadvan and Saliman both bristled at being referred to as _little Bards,_ but Likud had come to treat it as an endearment. He staunchly said that he and his fellow Hulls were far older than any Bard and so it was only appropriate, and that Cadvan and Saliman reminded him of young boys, snapping at the heels of their seniors. As they left, Cadvan gathered up Arnost and tucked it safely against his side. It would do him little good against the Hulls, but he felt better having it all the same.

Predawn light lay on the city Eleve and the air itself seemed blue. The city was waking, the soldiers emerging from their commandeered homes, the slaves shaking off the spring cold and the Hulls snapping orders at their servants. As the Bards and Likud passed through the city streets, they passed an atrocious number of corpses which turned Cadvan's stomach and made Likud laugh.

"Soon, all the cities will be like this. There will be no more bastions of the Light. It will be a marvelous sight." Likud gestured to the body of a young woman, face down, dried blood caked in her hair from a gaping wound in her skull. "No more talk of the goodness of the Light, just a bitter reminder that there is only fear and hatred and power, and those too weak to seek it."

They had to pass the remains of the hospital where the snouts were staying, and Cadvan and Saliman gave it a wide breadth, much to the amusement of Likud. When they arrived at the stables, they found their horses had been tied up but no one had taken the reins and bit out of their mouths; it would have been a miserable two days with the metal chafing away at their tongues and teeth and the Bards were furious at the treatment. Darsor, however, threw back his head when he saw Likud.

_How is he alive? _he demanded of Cadvan. _Maerad destroyed him! _

_ It appears he managed to escape the Gates, _Cadvan said, running his hands over Darsor's back. _And he leads the Nameless One's army now. _

Darsor was most unhappy about this and nosed at Cadvan's face where the whip lashes stood out. _I will pay him back for that kindness._

Likud didn't understand the horse, for Hulls had long since forgotten the Speech, but he sensed the stallion's eyes on him. He moved closer to inspect Darsor and the horse bit at him. The Hull snarled, drawing back angrily while Darsor bucked and kicked. Cadvan turned away to hide his laughter.

"Control your beast, Cadvan, or I'll take him in hand," warned the Hull, pride stinging.

"Darsor is free horse and does what he chooses. He hardly listens to me," Cadvan said plaintively.

"Either tame him or you can butcher him. Perhaps you tire of your current fare, perhaps you want horse?" Cadvan chose not to answer, though Saliman looked sharply between the two, and saddled Darsor.

In the yard before the stables, the Hulls were preparing to depart. They would ride ahead of the army, arriving at their resting place for the night a few hours before the marching men. There they would regroup and make further plans for the battle to come, relax in their tents and eat if they were hungry. Since Cadvan and Saliman were riding with the Hulls, they left before the majority of the soldiers had gathered, and departed the city just as the ranks of the men began to fall in. They were not riding with the snouts, for which both Bards were unendingly grateful, but they did have the mayor's daughter in their retinue, and it was heartbreaking to see the small girl amid Hulls.

Around midday, she fell back so that she was riding alongside Saliman, whom she seemed to know. He flashed a kindly smile at her. "Cadvan, this young girl is Iris, and she's been an utter delight to me the past two days."

Iris recognized Cadvan and smiled shyly. "We've met."

"Though not properly introduced," Cadvan responded. He mustered up a smile of his own and winked. "The wine really was excellent."

"Papa took a lot of pride in his work," she said in a dignified voice. "He said when he retired, he would be a wine maker." But the mention of her father's dreams for life after mayoral work hurt Iris too much, and her face closed.

"I am sorry for your loss, Iris, it is not right and it is not fair, but I think your father would have been proud of you. You have been very brave."

She sniffled. "I don't want to be here anymore."

Cadvan and Saliman exchanged a swift look. "This will be over soon," Saliman finally said. "This campaign will end in the next few months."

"Then what?" she asked morosely, but neither Bard had an answer. If she was indeed a Bard, then the Hulls would send her wherever the other Bard children were going. If she was human, Likud already had a plan in place. Neither option seemed particularly good.

"Don't think too far in the future, you never know what might happen between now and then," Saliman advised, and though the girl looked a little less despondent, she was silent.

They reached a stopping sight before the sun sank and began making camp. This was no town, there were no buildings, just a dismal sight along the edge of the Malinau Forest. The slaves who had travelled with the Hulls began making camp while Cadvan and Saliman loitered about, setting their horses to rights and wondering where they were sleeping.

"Who is Likud?" Saliman asked at length. "You seemed rather shocked to see it and it seemed oddly pleased to have you here."

Cadvan turned away. "Likud was the Hull who taught me Dark arts when I was in School. The one who showed me how to summon the Bone Queen. I despise him, but I fear my hatred of him is nothing compared to his hatred of me." Cadvan shuddered when he recalled the conversation they'd had, Likud's plans for him. "He considers me a traitor and has been hunting me since the Bone Queen's defeat in Pellinor almost fifty years ago."

Saliman glanced toward the camp sight. "You seemed surprised to see him."

"I thought Maerad destroyed him at the Broken Teeth. It seems he escaped."

"He was one of the Hulls that waylaid you at the Broken Teeth?" Saliman glanced sharply at Cadvan's face. "He was one who whipped you?"

Cadvan shrugged. "Of all the servants of the Dark, Likud is my least favorite. He has haunted my footsteps since before I even came to be a minor Bard, and it seems he chases me now. The Nameless One must be thoroughly enjoying his surprise."

"Indeed," Saliman said gravely then straightened as the topic of their conversation came their way, Iris trailing a safe distance behind Likud.

"These two aren't to be left to their own devices, girl," Likud was saying. He gave her an unnecessary shove and she stumbled forward. Saliman's face was dark. "When we make camp, you're to see them settled and fed. Look, they could have run off into the night and we would have been none the wiser. Is that what you want?"

"N-no," she stuttered.

"I should hope not, because I would hold you accountable." Likud glanced at the Bards spitefully. "If they get away, I'll feed you to the dogs. Do you want that?"

"Please don't," she whispered. "I won't let them escape."

"See that you don't." He handed her rope, which she stared at it nonplussed and then stood back to watch her with crossed arms.

Iris held the rope up, looking as if she'd never seen anything so strange. Likud's eyes narrowed, but Saliman sprang up, hands out to take the rope. "It's alright, Iris, just tie our hands." Iris watched in complete shock as Cadvan turned, hands pressed together behind his back so Saliman could tie them. Cadvan didn't make a move to escape, didn't protest the aching in his wrist, just stood by impassively. Saliman then turned to face her and drew his own wrists together. "It doesn't hurt."

Iris carefully tied Saliman's wrists taking special care not to bind him too tightly least it be painful and finished with an elaborate knot. Likud nodded to a spike in the ground that she bound them both to and then waited while he inspected her work. "You, girl, are a miracle worker. You've convinced the Bards to tie themselves up! It's a power unlike any I've seen. Make sure they're fed and watered and wake them before the sun rises tomorrow."

Iris waited until Likud was well out of earshot before turned back to the Bards. "I'm sorry," she said at once, looking anxiously at the two Bards. "It wasn't that I wanted to help him but he said-"

"Fear not, child," Saliman said gently. "Likud is being needlessly cruel. Cadvan and I are bound on this journey by far stronger ties than rope. We cannot run even if we wanted."

"Then why-"

"To frighten you," Saliman said simply. "But do not be on our account. Whatever the Hull has done to us, it is not your fault."

Iris nodded dully. This type of psychological torment, this cruel teasing, was far beyond her ken. She knew only that Saliman and Cadvan seen unperturbed by her treatment of them. "I'll bring you food and water then."

She returned shortly holding a jug of water and a plate. Cadvan cringed at the sight of the meat and Saliman noticed. _What is it?_

_ I dare not say aloud. _Cadvan eyed the meat while the girl poured water into cups. _Likud has been feeding me that for two days. He says it is human flesh harvested from the fallen._

Saliman's face paled and his eyes went wide. _He lies. _

_ I think not. _

"Water first, please," Saliman croaked, his eyes still resting on the plate, debating whether to refuse the meat. Iris tipped the cup to his lips and watched while he swallowed gulp after gulp. When she reached for the plate, Saliman shook his head, saying quickly, "Cadvan needs water. See to him first."

When she had finished with the water, Iris cut the meat into small portions and speared a bit on a fork. Saliman was still grappling with his own disgust and shook his head, but Cadvan nodded her over. Iris knelt beside him, feeling strangely like a mother feeding a child, and he finished so quickly that she thought he might be sick.

_Eat it fast, try not to taste it_, Cadvan advised.

Saliman blanched but opened his mouth in consent when the girl offered him some. Cadvan could see the same utter disgust for the meat on his face. He wondered if Saliman could taste the difference, or if he too could only sense the overpowering herbs. When he'd finished, Saliman coughed, trying to keep the food in his stomach.

"A bit more water, please?" he asked hoarsely.

Iris offered them both water then used a spare rag to wipe both their faces. She moved around them anxiously, checking the knots on their wrists, tending to their horses, digging around to find blankets. They suspected that having someone to care for, to have a simple task that didn't require her to be around the Hulls, offered a sense of relief to poor girl. She seemed almost happy by the time she'd finished. She stood, waiting nervously for them to speak.

"I think we'll both sleep now," Saliman said, still tasting the meat. He gagged a moment. "Where does the night take you?"

"I don't know," Iris said softly. "Likud says I wait on him, but he's in his tent…"

_She can't sleep there, _Saliman said simply. _She can't spend the night with a Hull. The Light only knows what he'll do to her._

Cadvan nodded to the saddle bags. "Why don't you sleep here in case Saliman or I need you in the night? There's bound to be a cloak or blanket in those bags."

The tension in the girl's shoulders vanished and she almost smiled. "Lord Likud probably won't need me," she said reasonably. "He never calls in the night," she added as she picked through Cadvan and Saliman's things until she found a cloak. She looked between Saliman and Cadvan debating where to sleep, but the Bards moved aside and made enough space for her between them.

"Right here is as good as any," Saliman said bracingly.

She curled up between them and was asleep in minutes.

The Black Army made steady progress northward with Likud at the head. He was a merciless driver, often threatening to kill men that fell behind. Many times, slaves would die of exhaustion and Likud would laugh, saying it was good that they did him the service of culling themselves. Though a large part of the army was slaves, there were many other fell creatures summoned from the abyss that travelled with them and wherever they went a cold, Dark aura hung over the land. The dog soldiers were terrifying to behold, loping along the ranks of soldiers, snarling in their helms and spitting acid. There were wers in bat form, flapping along lazily after the army at night. There were countless soldiers coming north under the impression that the people are Annar were monsters who would slaughter them and their families.

The Bards were disgusted with the army and, repulsed by the Dark sensation emanating from the hoard, rode in silence. This seemed to annoy Likud, who viewed Cadvan as his own special possession and liked to toy with him when he was board. At times, he would beckon Cadvan to the front of the column and have him ride at his side, forcing an absurdly cheerful conversation. Likud was fond of reliving old memories or Lirigon, and would ask Cadvan about the different places in the city: the street of Makers, the School, the grove where Cadvan had summoned the Bone Queen. Likud asked after the different Bards he had known when he had tried to invade and pretended to lament the passing of Basher whose death he was solely responsible for. He asked after Ceredin, her family and where her body was buried. When Cadvan managed to maintain his composure and keep his voice steady and emotionless, Likud would order him to pull out his lyre and play songs for him, claiming that he missed music.

Saliman faired little better on their journey. Though not Likud's favorite, the Hull seemed to think it was his responsibility to make Saliman as miserable as possible. He would constantly mention the fall of Turbansk, and proudly displayed a gold chain he had found in the Ernani's own private rooms. Hulls cared little for such mundane things as gold, though, and Likud said, much to Saliman's horror, that he might have the chain melted down and made into a set of manacles to bind the current Ernani once they caught him. When he tired of making Cadvan play, he ordered Saliman to sing songs about Turbansk and told the Bard that he must compose a ballad describing the fall of his people.

Saliman bore most of this treatment with an impassive expression, but when Likud turned his attention on Iris, who rode as close as she could to Saliman, and threatened her or beat her, he lost his temper. On one such occasion, their third day out of Eleve, Saliman had lunged at Likud, sword in hand. The Hull had been so shocked by the attack that it stumbled back with a snarled cry. Saliman paid dearly for the encounter, though, because Likud bound him with a curse and then had two other Hulls strike him repeatedly with him flat of their blades. Iris, who had been made to watch, clung to Cadvan and sobbed.

Overall, it was an unpleasant journey. They reached the Imlan River after a week and the nostalgia was like a physical blow to Cadvan. Countless times, he had followed the Imlan River into the valley and to Innail. This time of year in the early spring, Cadvan knew the trees would be throwing forth their new green buds, the first lazy bees would be shrugging off their winter mantle and buzzing drunkenly in the new grass and early wildflowers who spread their petals. It was a beautiful country to travel though and the knowledge that he had to turn away from it for the evil deeds that lay ahead sat heavy on his heart.

Something of Cadvan's feelings must have shown on his face because Likud paused, smirking. "Wishing to see your friends in Innail? Do not weep, little Bard, because you will be united with them soon."

This brought Cadvan no comfort and he looked away.

Still they rode and reached Ettinor a day later. This was the first time that Cadvan and Saliman were able to see how the Black Army handled the Annarean Bards. A messenger was sent forth to the School and the Bards were given the simple ultimatum: surrender yourselves, and the city and all its people would be spared, refuse and the people would be slaughtered. They were given twenty-four hours to decide as the Black Army slowly amassed at their gates. It must have been a truly terrible sight to behold, and there was little surprise that the next day, the First Circle of Ettinor emerged from the gates around the city. Likud left Cadvan and Saliman but went to meet the Ettinor Bards in person.

A long, tense conversation followed, during which Likud frequently gestured to the army behind him. After a time, the First Bard, Finlan, removed his sword and handed it to Likud. The Hull held the blade aloft a moment, examining the fine craftsmanship, then slowly began to build his power. The Bards before him could sense his strength growing as he invested the blade with more and more of his Darkness. Suddenly, violently, he brought the blade swinging down in an arc to the ground. The beautiful sword shattered with a sound like a huge bell being rung and the pieces scattered on the soil at the Bard's feet.

Likud lifted his terrible gaze up to Finlan. "Your power is broken, your people are mine, you must seek forgiveness from Dark throne." Finlan nodded gravely though the other members of the First Circle seemed appalled at the statement.

The exodus began. The city gates opened properly and crowds of Bards emerged. They came in small groups, families with children, couples clinging to each other, the young and old mixed together. It was as if they feared to face the Black Army alone and took comfort from the presence of their companions even though it offered no defense. The Bards came with nothing but the clothes on their back and simple packs, presumably holding their dearest possessions, and they eyed the amassed army behind Likud and his Hulls warily. As the crowds swelled, Cadvan and Saliman saw the dog soldiers creep forward at the command of Hulls, forming a ring around the captives. The Bards recoiled, pressing against one and other as they sank back into a tighter ball. Cadvan had the briefest vision of the dog soldiers suddenly falling on the Bards, slaughtering them all where they stood, but he shouldn't have feared as they merely moved among the crowd, snarling and snapping as they split the people in three distinct groups: men, women and children.

"You see before you the full might of the Nameless One, you understand the foolishness of opposing his will. You are now in service to the Dark Throne," Likud announced, his voice magnified by his own power. "You will be escorted back to Dagra by a contingent of our soldiers where you will be assigned duties there. Minor Bards will be sent to our School to be _reeducated_." There was a smile in his voice as Likud said, "I would highly recommend you not struggle, for the Dark Lord has no interest in disobedient servants and the consequences of your actions will be _severe_."

The Bards said nothing to this pronouncement, which was perhaps the most disturbing thing about the entire episode. Both Cadvan and Saliman were unnerved by the silence with which the Bards met the Dark. There was no crying, no screaming, no pleading, even the children were startlingly silent. It was almost like the reality of the situation hadn't properly set in and the Bards were wandering through some shared nightmare. They were utterly confused: how did they come to be like this?

_They called it the Great Silence for a reason, _Saliman thought, watching a woman look on passively as a soldier ripped her pack from her and dug through the contents. He removed a warm cloak and then dumped the rest of her possessions on the ground: a gown, a lute and book. He stomped on the lute and is snapped in half. _They never say what the silence was, but perhaps this a part of the silence. The uncomprehending silence of shock. _

Likud watched as the Bards were split, smiling a little when he saw a young boy cling to his parent's legs, shaking the silent tears from his eyes as a dog soldier growled at him. A man who must have been the boy's father bent down to his knees and pushed the hair off his face, whispering something to him under the glowing eyes of the beast before him. The boy nodded, wiping the tears from his eyes and turned to face the dog solider. It snapped its teeth at him and the child backed away slowly, terrified. Likud supposed they would make slaves, but just barely. Bards never did well in captivity, he thought, they were like songbirds whose voices died in confinement. He supposed it was just their nature to be weak, but it irked him that he never got the proper time he wanted to play with them. He thought of Cadvan and Saliman, who must have been watching from up top a hill and grinned, there were two Bards he could toy with, though. It was just a pity that only the strongest of the Bards ever put up any fight.

_Speaking of, _thought Likud as the First Circle was brought toward him. _A First Bard will serve me well for now._

"How now, Finlan of Ettinor?" Likud asked mischievously, gesturing the First Bard forward.

Finlan kept his face carefully blank. "We were told that the commander of the Dark Army wished to speak to us. That is you."

"It is," agreed Likud, drawing his hands together. "My master has a keen interest in First Bards, and, as such, so do I. I thought perhaps we might walk together while this messy business is handled."

"I would prefer to stay with me people during this time," Finlan said, frowning a little at the casual dismissal of his School's enslavement.

Likud smiled toothily. "Now, now, Finlan, there's nothing to be gained by watching, and besides, you wait on my command now, no? That was our agreement."

Finlan hands clamped into fists. "What of the First Circle?"

"They will be handled," Likud said absently, and waved a few of the Hulls over. "Don't fear for them. The Nameless One wishes to see them before they are sentenced. They will be kept well-enough alive on the road to Dagra."

Though Finlan wanted to say more, Likud was already walking away, so he hurried to follow. "…must be curious as to what will become of you. A First Bard holds great power and as such, will do great things in the name of our Lord." It was a mark of the Nameless One's certainty of victory that his commander was sharing his plans with him. "We march next to Lirigon, and I will have need of Bards who can summon creatures of the Abyss."

Finlan was repulsed by the idea. "I will not allow my magery to be put to such uses."

"You refuse the command of our Lord?" Likud asked sharply, spinning about to watch him. "You were given a choice, were you not? Mercy for the innocent in exchange for your service? This is your service."

"I am a Bard of the Light. My power cannot be turned to such matters." Finlan stared back stoically.

"Well, you're not wrong there. For a First Bard, your power is feeble and will hardly serve to open the door for the creatures we wish to summon. But in concert with stronger Bards than yourself…Perhaps you can do your part."

"The First Circle will not-"

"I do not speak your paltry First Circle, those small men and women whose minds have been corrupted by petty greed and avarice. You are poor stock, to be sure, and when this war is over and out master has reclaimed his kingdom, I wouldn't be surprised if you and yours were butchered. The White Flame that burns in you is small. It does not deserve to burn. And you know this, don't you Finlan?" Likud reached out and took his chin in his hand, forcing his eyes up. "I see in you the barest flicker of Fire, a mere candle. Our master needs torches." Finlan tried to break the Hulls deceptively delicate grasp and found that he couldn't. "You know in your heart that the White Fire in you has been dying. Your powers have faltered, your strength is flagging. So, this war, this is the end for you. I think you know that it will destroy you."

"If I am so weak, why not just kill me now?" Finlan asked, trying to disguise his own horror at the Hull's words. He knew the Hull did not lie.

"Because I want to break you first, and I want your people to see." They had left behind the Bards of Ettinor now and were walking up a steep hill. Finlan saw a collection of Hulls, and, a few feet apart, two other figures that milled about by their horses. They didn't exude the same Darkness as the Hulls, and Finlan realized these must be Bards as well. "Your people and your First Circle will be sent to Dagra, but you will come on with us to Lirigon, but take joy in knowing you'll be in like company. You're not even the only First Bard we have in our little retinue."

The two figures who were unable to look away from the scene below them seemed to shiver, as if sensing Likud's presence. They both turned and Finlan gasped. One of them, he knew on sight: Cadvan of Lirigon. The other, a handsome, dark skinned man with who must have hailed from the south. He eyed Cadvan angrily, for he had not forgotten the dark stories of Cadvan's youth and suspected this Bard had betrayed the Light. Likud clapped his hands, announcing their arrival.

"Hello, little Bards! I have a surprise for you," Likud led Finlan forward, smiling around broadly. "I suppose you all might know each other, but if not, allow me to make the introductions. First Bard Finlan of Ettinor, meet First Bard Saliman of the fallen city of Turbansk, and an old friend of mind, Cadvan of Lirigon." Cadvan grimaced at this title.

Finlan looked furious. "I am not surprised to find Cadvan of Lirigon here."

Likud glanced between the two of them. "Really, why is that?"

"Cadvan turned from the Light long ago. It was merely a matter of time before he betrayed us properly."

Likud laughed amiably, walking forward and slapped Cadvan on the shoulder. "Come now, that's not a very nice things to say. Would it surprise you to learn that Cadvan of Lirigon is no willing member of our party? That he is here only because the Nameless One threatened to torture the woman he loves, Maerad of Pellinor? Would it horrify you to learn that that poor young woman is even now a captive in the Dark Tower and the only thing that keeps her from torment is Cadvan's continued obedience?"

Finlan glanced at Cadvan's dark face uncertainly. "That sounds like a lie of the Dark."

"It matters not, at least where you're concerned, Finlan. Like I said, you're power it but a flickering candle that will soon be extinguished. The Nameless One has no need for pathetic servants like you, men who care barely continence his will, men whose mind will be flayed to madness by his touch. But Bards like these two here, who have suffered his Dark fire and survived, they will live to serve him. And yes, they will hate every moment of it and beg for the sweet release of death, but they will live. You, Finlan, are nothing but a corpse. Your body just doesn't know it yet."

Finlan's face had gone white and he flinched. "Have you nothing better to do?" Cadvan demanded. "Or are you such an empty and lonely creature that you must force yourself on those who hate you?"

If Finlan was shocked by the anger in Cadvan's voice, he was horrified when the Hull turned about and struck Cadvan across the face. Saliman gave an outraged cry, but Likud held up a hand in warning and the Bard remained standing where he was. Likud switched his gaze to Cadvan. "You had best mind your manners around me, Cadvan. I may need you alive and in your right senses for this war, but when the battle is won, I'm taking you back to Dagra and there will be no escape for you then."

"How could I possibly forget, you remind me at least once a day?" Cadvan asked dryly.

Likud blinked at the tone before he hit him thrice more. "Then, why. Do you. Forget?" He punctuated each blow with his words. "Do I need to find a new way to drive my words into that thick head of yours?" When Cadvan remained stubbornly silence, Likud lifted his hand again. "Shall I tell our master you're been misbehaving?"

This time, Cadvan grimaced, though his eyes burned furiously. "No."

"No, what?"

Cadvan's jaw worked around his pride. "No, don't tell our master I've been misbehaving."

Likud suddenly turned to Finlan who took a step back. "Take a lesson. You see? This is a true Bard of Light, a Bard whose strength of will and powers are at least useful to my master. A Bard who might challenge me."

As Likud stormed off to oversee the acquisition of the Ettinor Bards, Finlan found himself alone in the company of Cadvan and Saliman. Saliman was scowling at Cadvan. "Why do you insist on antagonizing Likud? It can get you nowhere."

Cadvan shifted on his feet almost guiltily. "I don't know, but it feels like a betrayal of Light to simply let a Hull have its way. Does it sit well with you?"

Saliman shook his head. "Of course not, but I fear that Likud will lose his temper and actually tell the Nameless One you have been disloyal."

Cadvan turned away and said sadly, "No, my friend. Likud enjoys my struggle too much. He thinks it's a good bit of sport."

"Still, I would much prefer you not anger him. I'm not over fond of seeing your bruises." Saliman gave Cadvan a long, hard look but suddenly smiled mischievously. "Though I suppose there can be no doubt in anyone's mind that the servants of the Dark have no love for Cadvan of Lirigon."

Cadvan chuckled darkly. "You know me, always looking for that silver lining."

Finlan looked between the two other Bards like they'd gone mad, and it took them both a moment to remember that he was there. "Greetings, Finlan," Saliman said, holding out a hand. "Though it hurts my heart to find you like this."

"What are you two doing here?" he demanded, staring at Saliman's wrist, the Sick Moon branded there.

"Defending what we love," Saliman said simply.

Finlan looked sharply at Cadvan, eyeing the bright red marks on his face. "You believe that Hull's stories of Cadvan?"

"Believe them?" Saliman asked, an ironic gleam in his eyes. "I've lived them, Finlan. I've seen the Nameless One on his dark throne, felt the might of his will when he _forced my mind_, and swore myself in service to him that he might spare the people I love from a terrible fate. I've little care for your misgivings anymore, we're far beyond that now."

The brutality of his words shocked both Finlan and Cadvan, who reached out and gripped Saliman's arm tightly. "Don't be angry with him. I think, if our roles were reversed, it might be hard to forget a past so rife with Dark as mine. Besides," and here, Cadvan smirked at Finlan, "he must have seen how finely I am treated by the Hulls and know better than to think me suspect."

Finlan looked down contritely. "Forgive me, it is hard to forget the past. Especially in such times."

Though Saliman seemed loathe to forgive the Bard, he shrugged tiredly. "Well, we might as well make amends since it seems we'll be travelling with one and other. Come, let us not watch the rest of this."

The three Bards turned away from the hilltop and headed back to their horses. Finlan still seemed a little wary of Cadvan, but Saliman was speaking to him, and he had no choice but to join them both sitting on the ground.

"I suppose the army will have to escort the Bards. How many do you think they'll send? Will it tip the scales in Lirigon's favor?"

Finlan blinked, still at a loss and Cadvan stretched lazily. "Give him a moment. It is not easy to watch something like this, I would think."

Saliman raised his eyebrows, aware of what it was like. "Lirigon is next. We'll be there in a week, and Innail after. I want to know if there is any chance of these Schools escaping."

"No School will escape," Finlan said at once. "Not when the choice is between the School and the people."

Saliman and Cadvan glanced quickly at each other, and Saliman said, in rather a harsher voice than he meant, "The people of Lirigon and Innail have great love the Bards. They may not allow the School to surrender."

Finlan frowned. "The people of Ettinor city did not wish to fight."

"The School of Ettinor has not been particularly kind to them of late," Cadvan observed wryly, and though Finlan looked ready to argue, he seemed to think better of it and remained silent. "But perhaps Finlan is right regardless. Vaclal will not allow the city to be destroyed for a pointless battle. I think no matter how many men return to Dagra with the Bards of Ettinor, there will be plenty of spare."

"Besides, we will have to summon more," Finlan said, recalling Likud's words. "The commander of this army, Likud you called him, said as much to me."

Saliman cringed. He had expected as much, but the thought left a bitter taste in his mouth. "I wonder what he has in mind. Certainly not the Bone Queen?"

"I destroyed her," Cadvan said distractedly. "She no longer exists even in the shadowplains. It won't be anything as powerful as a shika, not even the three of us could summon one and control it."

Saliman gave Cadvan a skeptical look. "A wight perhaps? Or another revenant?"

Finlan was shaking his head. "You think the three of us could summon a _wight_?"

Cadvan leaned back, taking the measure of Finlan with a bitter, sardonic smile. "You think not? I've not used my Gift in service of Dark since I was a young, foolish man, but I could summon the Bone Queen then and that was no mean feat. Surely, between two First Bards and myself, we might be able to call up such a creature?"

"Even if I thought it possible, I would not so easily give myself and my Gift to the Dark." He said this with a fairly derisive tone, but Saliman laughed hollowly.

"You speak as if you will have a say in the matter."

Cadvan nodded, thinking of the time in Pellinor when he and all the Bards of the First Circle had been forced to use their Gift to summon the Bone Queen back into existence. None of them had been able to refuse Likud then. "The Dark can force you, and I don't doubt that Likud would not think twice about doing it. Of course, the Nameless One expressed interest in the First Bards, so Likud might not break your mind entirely." Cadvan fixed Finlan with a hard look. "You would serve the Light and your people better by living and trying to win them a reprieve from the Nameless One. To do that, you may have to surrender to Likud's demands."

Finlan looked disgusted at the thought but noticed that neither Saliman nor Cadvan was particularly surprised by their fate. Saliman shifted and set his sword across his lap. "Who's on the First Circle? Have any of them got any fight left in them?"

"Helgar might." Finlan stared at Saliman's blade, confused. "I don't understand. You both have blades, you are famous for your formidable Gifts. Why have you not fought back? Why have you not killed the Hull who leads the army? You have done nothing!" He said this last bit desperately.

Saliman's face darkened but Cadvan shook his head. "I don't think you quite understand the position we're in. Saliman didn't lie to you when he said the Nameless One forced our minds. We cannot refuse him, and even had he not, he still holds our friends hostage." Here, Cadvan's eyes narrowed. "And I _will not_ be the reason they are hurt."

"Tell me, Finlan, what would you do if you had to choose between those you love and the Light?" Saliman asked. "How would you decide which to serve?"

"There is no easy answer," Finlan hedged.

"For us there was," Cadvan shrugged. "And now we cannot go back. For us, at least, the fight is over."

Finlan sensed a great despair in the other Bard, a pain that hurt him almost as much as a physical blow. "There are still others who will fight," he said, grappling with the pain. "Perhaps we have lost but others will fight."

"Indeed," agreed Cadvan, "and so, how many men will the Black Army spare to escort your Bards to Dagra."

Finlan shook his head hopelessly. "Not enough. Not nearly enough."

* * *

_It's almost like being back in Gilman's Cot_, Maerad thought as she sat on a padded dais, plucking at strings on her lyre and singing inane songs about love and maidens in starry glades. _Though at least here, the air doesn't reek of vomit and ale._

It was true that the brothel seemed transformed during the night. What had been something like a schoolhouse had become a dark and tantalizingly mysterious building of many rooms full of whispered conversation, low laughter and desirous gazes. The young women who had gone about straight-backed talking of books and songs had become lovely floating figures whose smiles teased and whose eyes promised everything under the sun. The youngest women were, thankfully, at least Maerad's age, but she saw the young girls hurrying about, seeing gentlemen to and from the door, serving water and wine, assisting their older counterparts. Maerad sensed these young girls in all the rooms, hiding in the corners, carefully watching the couples like it was a play.

Maerad herself had spent the first hour carelessly strumming notes, slipping into herself so as to avoid the scene before her. Lyla was seated on a low couch, sipping water and carefully serving a man from a bottle of dark red wine. He was not particularly ugly, though Maerad thought he lacked the vital energy Bards seemed to possess, and it made him seem plain. He was her Grin, a wealthy plantation owner who kept his mistress, Lyla, comfortably housed in Dagra proper and made the journey once a week to spend the evening with her. They seemed to get on surprisingly well, which had at first confused Maerad. Surely, this man knew Lyla only spent time with him because he paid her upkeep, and that must have been rather sobering? But, no, it seemed Lyla was adept at keeping him entertained while seeming entirely engaged in everything he said. She reclined against the back of the couch, resting her head in the palm of her hand so her fine hair fell in a dark curtain and framed her intent face. She leaned close enough that had she chosen, she could have kissed him, and he seemed almost completely engrossed in her attentive face.

_If you can make him think his pleasure is yours, then he will love you_. Lyla's words floated around her head. She had been right, the man seemed utterly in love with her, and seemed more than happy to pay the price for it.

Maerad had pricked up her Bard hearing at first, intrigued, but the conversation had been abysmal: discussion of crops he was raising, the current state of the slave trade, the overwhelming presence then sudden absence of the great lords of the Dark Tower. And so, with nothing better to do, Maerad had simply engrossed herself in the music. It was a while before the Grin rose, making some excuse to use the bathroom and Lyla came over.

"You have the look of an idiot. Tell me you have been paying attention to me and the Grin?"

"Which part?" Maerad asked serenely, not missing a single note. "The _thrilling _conversation about corn prices? Or, perhaps, the utterly _consuming _discussion of the cost of dyes now that the people are at war? Or, maybe you meant-"

"Stop it," Lyla hissed. "I meant, did you pay attention to how I act? How I look at him? How I smile at his stories and laugh at his jests?" Maerad laid her hand flat across the strings and the music stopped and blinked up at her. "You haven't, have you? Gods, but you are useless."

"You asked for music," Maerad pointed out.

"Are you so thick you can't do two things at once?" Lyla sighed, giving Maerad a hard, determined look. "Fine, if you can't spare the time for the conversation, we'll bring it to you."

Maerad lifted her chin just a little. "Don't let me stop you from enjoying your evening."

"I daresay my evening will be just fine," Lyla said icily and turned just as the Grin returned to the room. Lyla caught him at the door and hooked her arm through his, directing him to the table where their drinks and small food were still out. As Maerad began to play again, the two fell into hushed conversation and Maerad strained to hear.

Lyla suddenly turned about, eyes landing on Maerad, and said in a falsely stern voice. "You can't food me, I've seen your eyes wandering all night. Perhaps we'll take a closer look, yes, and you can slake your curiosity?"

The man laughed. "My dear, there is nothing in this room I'd rather look at than you."

Lyla smirked playfully and led him over to Maerad. "She is a lovely little thing, isn't she?" Lyla said sweetly, waving at Maerad to stop playing.

"Indeed, such a strange thing to see this far south." Maerad looked up for the first time in the Grin's face. His skin was the same dark shade at Lyla's, but his eyes were almost entirely black, and lacked any warmth. He had a short cropped beard and hair, and both were streaked with grey. When he smiled, Maerad noticed that his teeth were yellowing. Maerad also saw uncomfortably that his eyes moved over her pale face, her breasts, her corseted waist. "Wherever did you find her?"

"She had been sent to us for training-which shows remarkably good taste! I believe she was one of the captives brought back from the raids in Turbansk you told me about." Lyla said primely. She noticed the way the Grin's eyes rested on her figure and said lightly, "She's only just begun her education with us. It'll be many weeks before she'd be trusted with any of our esteemed clients."

"A pity," the Grin said regretfully. Maerad wanted to slap him for the look he gave her then: raw and hungry. "I'm sure any man with the means would be curious to sample such an exotic fruit."

"Exotic fruits can be poisonous," warned Lyla. "At the very least, they might cause stomach upset."

"Oh yes?" the Grin chuckled. "You think it best to stick to the familiar comforts?"

"Not at all," said Lyla with relish. "I think all men have eclectic appetites, but great men know that no number of rare and exotic dishes will ever replace the taste of home."

The Grin snapped his fingers. "You're a delight, Lyla." Maerad had to fight the angry flush in her cheeks. She was _not_ some piece of food. "And more than right. A man my age should stick to what he knows best. But a young man might be a tad more adventurous. I've a son who will soon turn eighteen and I daresay his tastes will run a little wild."

Maerad's eyes darted to Lyla in warning, but the woman smiled thoughtfully. "And how soon is s_oon_?"

"A month yet," the Grin said. "He's my youngest, but, between you and me, my favorite, and he deserves a proper gift when he comes of age. He'll be a man in his own right then."

Lyla considered Maerad. "She is young and unpracticed."

"Is that right?" the Grin's attention intensified and Maerad clutched at the lyre tightly. "She might learn a great deal from a proper gentleman."

"If your son takes after you, my lord, he is not a proper gentleman," she laughed and he winked roguishly at her. "But, I think you may be right. Little Maerad could do with a proper patron. I fear she runs wild in this house as it is now, a regular warren."

"A warren? I would have thought a songbird," he said, a predatory light in his eyes when he glanced at the lyre.

"A bird unaccustomed to its cage," Lyla amended, smiling rather nastily for Maerad's benefit. "But if your son has an interest in such things, I think you ought to speak to Mama Lena about making arrangements."

"What say you, little songbird?" asked the Grin in a booming voice.

"She should be so honored as to host your son," Lyla cut across Maerad before she could answer. "And remember, she is my protégé. I think he will be most satisfied."

The Grin smiled wolfishly, his eyes now turned to Lyla who seemed unperturbed by the look. "It is _he_ who should be so honored then."

Lyla gave him a narrow, enticing smile and offered her arm. The Grin took it and she led him toward the couch and the wine, calling over her shoulder, "Maerad, do play again. One of your strange songs from the north."

The rest of the evening passed quickly, and Lyla led the Grin from the room into the dark garden under the pretext of looking at the stars. Maerad gathered up her instrument and hurried from the room, almost running to the bath where she could wash off the dirty feeling of the Grin's eyes. She sank into the steaming water trembling, scrubbing at her skin until it was bright red.

_I am not here for sale, I am not here for any man. _She belatedly remembered that she was supposed to have oiled her hair and slathered the strands in lavender again. The stroking motion of her hands in her hair served to calm her marginally. _I am only here until Cadvan returns. Then I go back to the tower and Sharma. _

_Ah, but what if Cadvan doesn't return? _

This thought drew Maerad up short and she drew her knees against her chest. If Cadvan was killed in battle, if Cadvan never came back to claim her, would Sharma leave her here? Was she to spend the rest of her life in his house, playing host to the Grin's filthy son? Or what if Cadvan came back, but came back too late? What if Mama Lena decided she _could _make too much money selling Maerad and went ahead? Would Cadvan want her if he learned what she'd done?

_He would. I know Cadvan wouldn't care. _Maerad ducked her head, thinking of just weeks ago when she had held Cadvan as Sharma ripped through his mind and told him she didn't care what he became, she would always love him. _He would love me still. _

But still, Cadvan's love wasn't going to stop the inevitable if the Grin made Mama Lena an offer she couldn't refuse.

Maerad wrung her hair out, finished washing and returned to her room. The books of poems were there along with paper and quill. Lyla had been serious when she'd told Maerad to write a letter. She sank into the chair before the desk, eyeing the books disdainfully, and picked up a piece of paper and quill.

_**Cadvan,**_

_**I've been told to write you letters. Pretty letters about love and longing. Entertaining letters that will make you want me. Thoughtful letters that demonstrate my charm and wit. I cannot write these letters, for my days are dark and lonely and I fear that once you return I will not be the woman I was before you left. And I hope you will forgive me if that is the case. **_

_**I haven't felt such a crushing sense of desperation since we were separated at north and I thought you were dead. My heart was broken and I realize now that I loved you then, loved you so much that a part of me died too. When were reunited in Pellinor, I couldn't bear the thought of our being parted again, and now it seems we must bear our punishment apart from each other. When the Hulls brought us here, I feared a lifetime of torment at the hands of the Nameless One, but I thought that through it all, you would be with me. I think now I begin to understand Sharma's Knowing: it is cruel and cunning and I'm afraid it will destroy me. **_

_**I do not think you will ever read this letter, and maybe that is good thing because I think it would hurt you to think of me like this. Come back soon, please come back, for my sake if nothing else. **_

_**The Light keep you and my love find you,**_

_**Maerad **_

She stared at her words, almost confused by her own outpouring of emotion. When she'd started, she'd meant only to send him word she was unharmed and safe, that Sharma had kept his word, and that she missed him. But the words had flowed from her pen and now she stared at her desperate call for help and regretted it. Cadvan didn't need to hear this, not when he had been sent to Lirigon to watch while the city was destroyed. But she couldn't bring herself to burn the letter either because it was true. Instead, she folded it neatly and hid it under her bed. Her candle was burning low so Maerad scribbled a painfully mundane letter, set it aside to show Lyla the next day, and crawled into bed feeling empty and scared.

* * *

They left Ettinor in two days, sparing only a hundred soldiers to take the Bards back to Dagra. In that time, as Saliman had predicted, Likud had ordered the three bards to summon a wight that would march with the Ettinor Bards. Cadvan and Saliman were both shocked to find their Gift suddenly returned to them, and Cadvan suspected that the Nameless One had some control over when it appeared. If this was true, it meant that Likud had a direct connection with the Nameless One and could tell him when he needed the Bards' Gifts.

The summoning left all three Bards in a terrible state as it had been an arduous task. Indeed, Finlan was almost rendered unconscious with the force of the summoning and it was only quick intervention of Cadvan and Saliman's behalf that kept the charm in one piece. When the wight stepped through to the mortal realm, though, both Cadvan and Saliman had trembled under the might of its malignant presence. It was then that Finlan collapsed forward, gasping and Cadvan and Saliman fell to their knees. The wright stared unblinkingly at Finlan and probably would have sprung on him, killing him, had Saliman not issued a word of command to prevent the creature harming him. The wright, of course, was not pleased with Saliman's intervention and showed him his jagged, sharp teeth threateningly. It was at that moment that Likud had come forward and greeted the wight like an old friend. Though the wight did not kill him, it's eyes lingered on Saliman, as if putting his name and face to memory.

Watching the Ettinor Bards leave with a contingent of the Black Army and the wight had been a dark day for the three Bards, who saw it like a haunting vision of what was to come. None of them slept well that night and Finlan especially seemed frail and weak, and he struggled to stay upright and eat. Cadvan and Saliman suspected he had not recovered from the summoning, but it also seemed possible the hurt went deeper. Perhaps it was some power of the Dark that weighed him down. Whatever the cause, when the morning came and Iris roused them, Finlan was slouched in his saddle and barely stirred.

They rode faster now, the Hulls driving the slaves. They covered miles each day and their out-riders were constantly returning with word of the approaching city. Three days out of Lirigon, the Black Army cut off most travel to Innail, effectively trapping the people in their respective cities. Cadvan felt like the Black Army was tightening a noose around the slender throat of his city, and each day he felt the dread for the future grasp at him anew. He didn't speak much, which suited the Hulls just fine but disturbed Saliman, who feared that Cadvan had sunk into a desperate depression. He would speak to him in the night, asking after the only thing that seemed to matter to him anymore: Maerad. Cadvan's answers were bare and paltry and finally, when they were two days from the city, Saliman lost a bit of his temper.

"If you are going to sit wrapped in your silence, then cloak yourself in shadows too. I'm miserable enough as is, I don't need you moping about." Iris, who was nearby preparing their meal, and Finlan, who was tiredly laying out his blanket, both looked up narrowly at Saliman. The Turbanskian Bard didn't seem to notice. Or care. "By the Light, Cadvan, if you allow yourself to be so utterly cowed by the Dark, then the Nameless One has truly won."

Cadvan's face darkened furiously, but when he snapped about, preparing a harsh remark of his own, he saw that Saliman was plainly concerned, not angry. The words died on his lips and Cadvan shook his head ruefully. "I have travelled this road so many times in my past, but never did I think I would ride it like this. I seem to be trapped in my memories, and when I wake to the present day, I am bitter with what I see."

Saliman's face softened with the weight of Cadvan's despair. "When Turbansk fell, I fought every step of the way, and when the city was truly lost, I was one of the last to abandon it. I imagine this slow ride only serves to prolong the agony."

"But you are right. I have spent too much time mourning my own memories. There is nothing to be gained by living in the past." Cadvan stretched, accepting with some disdain the plate of food Iris offered. "The living must be looked to. I, too, wonder how Maerad and Hem do."

"I fear for them, more than I fear for us," Saliman sighed, unhappily eating the meat. "I do not like them being so far away and so utterly helpless to the Nameless One."

"They are not helpless," Cadvan said. "Whatever else they are, they are not helpless. I think, even without our oaths, the Nameless One would no kill them. I think, perhaps, he needs them now. They are tied to the Song."

Finlan had been listening carefully to this conversation. He recognized Maerad's name, but only in relation to Cadvan: when Helgar had returned after the Meet in Innail, she'd come with the story that Cadvan had taken Maerad of Pellinor not just as his student but as his lover. Now it seemed those rumors were true.

Cadvan saw Finlan watching and smiled ironically. "Questions?"

"Maerad of Pellinor is your lover?" he asked baldly. There seemed no point denying it. "It seemed a fine bit of gossip a year ago, but this goes deeper."

Cadvan flushed. He had given little thought as to what he and Maerad were, but _lover _seemed a term leaden with more history than their relationship. They'd never gotten the _chance_ to be lovers. Like many things the Dark had taken, the life they could have had where he and Maerad would have explored their feelings together, was gone. He thought of Maerad's simple words: _I don't know what love is, Cadvan, but I made the Song the for you. I don't want to be separated from you, I don't want to see Sharma hurt you, I don't want to think you're dead again. If that's love, then I love you_

"We loved too little, too late, and the Nameless One knew that." Cadvan fixed Finlan with a dark look. "But, I won't have her honor besmirched when she had scarified everything to save my life. She was not my lover in Innail, so you can keep those thoughts to yourself."

Finlan felt the overwhelming power of Cadvan's words and realized bitterly that Likud had not lied. Cadvan was a Bard of great power, a Bard who was not destroyed by the Dark. _He_ was a flickering flame beside it. "I meant only that the Hull mentioned her as well, and now you speak of them being the Nameless One's prisoners with little trepidation. Why?"

"Whatever spell the Nameless One used to bind himself to this world, Maerad and her brother Hem are a part of it," Saliman explained. "He needs them, I think. And so, while we have certainly taken the necessary precautions to protect them from undo harm, they will likely be spared the worst torments Dagra has to offer by virtue of their role in his magic."

Finlan was intrigued. "Could they stop him?"

"These are deep mysteries," Cadvan sighed, "and I'm afraid none of us knows. For now, let it be assumed that no, they cannot."

"That is unfortunate," Finlan said quietly, "for all our sakes."


	20. Chapter 20

Hey everyone! Lot's of different POVs in this chapter, but it should be exciting!

Chapter Twenty

Maerad rolled over when the knock on the door woke her, but she didn't open her eyes. She curled up tighter in a ball, cursing the early hours that these women kept. The knock sounded once more and Maerad pounded her fist on the bed.

_It's not like Lyla will be up early, _she thought petulantly. _She'll have spent the night entertaining that slimy Grin of hers. _

Maerad tossed the covers back and pulled herself from bed, going immediately to the bowl of water to splash her face. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and gave pause: even to herself she looked miserable. Her eyes were dull and flat, her lips downturned, a perpetual frown creasing her forehead. Sparing a glance for the door and throwing out her Bard hearing to make sure no one was coming, Maerad tried to mimic the charming, sly smile Lyla wore when she spoke to the Grin the previous night. She didn't think much of it.

_Maybe I'm not meant to be happy. _That seemed a fairly accurate statement, she thought as she slipped into the corset and drew a deep breath like Lyla had shown her before lacing the front. Maerad couldn't remember the last time she'd been truly happy…maybe her first time in Innail. But thinking of Innail just reminded her that it would soon be reduced to rubble, and she was here, unable to defend it. _I'm sure Sharma is beside himself with my sadness._

When the door opened, Maerad was surprised to see Lyla, looking fresh and lovely as ever, today in a stunning gown of ivory and cream. Maerad eyed her jealously, feeling supremely inferior in her dark blue dress. Lyla, however, appraised her with an almost approving eye, but her words were cutting.

"You've made an impression on Jarl. First thing this morning he went to speak to Mama Lena about you." She noticed Maerad's less than enthusiastic response. "You're taking this with absolutely no grace. Most girls would be over the moon with the chance to entertain a rich man's son, even a third son. You should learn to be grateful."

Maerad's eyes flashed. "I'm not here for men."

Lyla rolled her eyes as she came in and picked up the letter Maerad had written. It was surprisingly well done, with flowery words and charming anecdotes about dinner guests she'd met. "This is quite nice. I didn't know you could write."

"I'm a Bard," Maerad said unhelpfully. She pulled her hair off her face like Silvia had done ages ago and admired the sharp contours of her face. "We're all poets when it comes down to it."

Lyla set the letter aside. "Excellent, because you're going to write a letter to Jarl's son and tell him how keen you are to meet him."

Maerad's face dropped and she said flatly, "I'm not here to entertain."

"You're writing a letter, not laying back and letting him have you." Lyla shook her head at Maerad's temper like she was child. When Maerad's frown remained firmly in place, Lyla spun her about so she faced the mirror. "Look at yourself you sill girl. You're a strange and beautiful thing to the men here, and most of them will be happy enough to spend time in your company. No one said we're going to let the boy have you, just that you will _walk about _with him. Write him letters and tell him of the north, sing him your songs, smile on him. He'll reward you richly for it."

Maerad's thoughts were on Cadvan. "I've no desire to smile on him."

"Desire has nothing to do with it," Lyla said, suddenly cold. She tweaked at the lace on the neckline of Maerad's gown. "Besides, we can't let him see you naked, how would we explain that horrid scar?"

Maerad's complaints about the Grin's son fell on deaf ears after that. Lyla simply assured her that she wouldn't actually be bedding him, just keeping him thoroughly entertained, and though she demanded to speak to Mama Lena, the madam made no attempt to talk to her. Instead, Maerad was properly introduced to the house and its inhabitants while furthering her studies under the watchful eye of Lyla.

She woke every morning and read from her poetry books, learning how to turn sentences and play with words. She wiled away hours with Lyla practicing playful conversation over a myriad of tasks that included playing dice or cards, serving tea or food, or walking in gardens. She learned how to prepare for an evening in the company of gentlemen. Lyla showed her how to set her hair in different styles, some which revealed her face and her strong cheek bones and made her look more mature, others with her hair cascading down her back like an innocent maid, and most importantly, she taught her _when _she should adopt each style depending on the man she was with.

After a week, some of Maerad's gowns were returned and, after a thorough inspection of them all, Lyla deemed them perfectly appropriate if not extravagant, and told her to be grateful for the gifts from her lord. Maerad smirked, thinking that Sharma wanted nothing more than to humiliate her and that seeing her dressed up, no matter how richly, in such clothing suited him just fine. Lyla put Maerad in one gown after the other, grudgingly admitting that she looked quite beautiful in all the colors, but that dark red suited her best. She demonstrated the proper way to curtsey and twirl so that the dress flared out about her hips, she showed her how to hide letters in her sleeves, how to keep a kerchief in her bodice to give to men as a sign of favor.

But still there was more. Lyla had sensed Maerad's trepidation at the thought of being with men, and though she didn't pursue it, she guessed that the younger girl had probably been treated roughly at the hands of men. This was no excuse for ignorance, but it did mean that teaching Maerad anything about love-making was going to be slow. She began cleverly, by asking whether Maerad had been doing her reading, and whether she had questions about the black book and its contents. Obviously, Maerad did, but she didn't want to ask. But Lyla was cunning.

"No questions at all? You're completely ready to be returned to your lord, a woman for bed matters?" Her eyes gleamed as they always did when she teased Maerad. "I suppose I'm not entirely surprised that you're familiar with the workings of the bedroom. Your kind are loose."

Maerad, who had been brushing her hair in the mirror in her room in the long strokes Lyla insisted she use, blushed. "Bards aren't loose. We're allowed to love."

Lyla raised a perfectly arched eyebrow. "And so, you think you're ready to go back to…?" Her voice wavered off. In truth, Lyla was a bit curious as to what man Maerad served. She was familiar enough with most of the Grins, and knew the lords that lived in the Dark Tower didn't partake in the pleasures of women. So, who was this man?

"He won't care how I go back to him," Maerad said with a confidence that annoyed Lyla. "It's not like that between us."

"Oh, yes it is," Lyla reprimanded her. "Your lord can say all the sweet things he wants, but he is a man like any other. There are things he'll want."

Maerad prepared a smart retort, but then reconsidered. The last night they'd been together, Cadvan had told her there were things she could do he would like. Things that would bring him pleasure. After a thorough exploration of the book, Maerad had a better idea of what some of those things might be, but she didn't think she'd have the nerve to do any of them. Lyla, who was watching Maerad's face in the mirror closely, saw all this.

"Men are simple creatures you know," she said to no one in particular. "They want two things from women: a wife and a lover. Of course, those two things are often quite at odds with each other, and thus women are generally one or the other. Wives are familiar and warm, they comfort him when he hurt, they love him when he's sick, they are loyal when no one else is, they bear his children. Lovers are exciting, demanding, sometimes a bit frightening." She paused, looking out the window. "A great woman can be both."

Maerad thought of the intimate companionship that had grown between them since they began their travels together. The days spent riding together, laughing and learning; fleeing the Dark and the implicit trust they shared because of it, the comfort they both derived from each other. Yes, she understood the desire for a familiar and trusting partner, but she had no memories save the that last night as to what a lover was.

"He and I are very close," she said slowly.

"Well, not so close as you are still a maid," Lyla said, laughing rather derisively.

Maerad set the brush down with a sharp snap on the table. She hated when Lyla was like this, so cruel and calculating. "So, you think I am not his lover?"

"I think you are keen to learn how." Lyla waited for Maerad to deny her, but the other girl said nothing, so she continued. "Tell me honestly, what does it feel like to be with him."

It was Maerad's turn to laugh condescendingly. Whatever emotions raged through her when she was with Cadvan, they were tinged with the Dark presence of Sharma. The knowledge that at any minute, the man she loved could be taken from her and tortured never left Maerad's mind. "We've had a rather nontraditional courtship."

"That doesn't mean you don't feel desire," Lyla said shrewdly. "Tell me what stands between you two."

Maerad wanted to refuse, but this sounded more like an order, and Lyla had already threatened to go to the madam if Maerad flouted her authority. Briefly, Maerad related their few encounters, struggling to find the words to describe the sensations and feelings. Lyla listened carefully, a professional curiosity on her face. When Maerad finished, she smiled fleetingly.

"Do you know what would have happened had you continued on your merry way with your hands?"

Maerad shrugged. "He just said I might not understand his response."

"Most likely," Lyla said dryly. "I'll tell you what I think. I think this man or yours loves you deeply-lucky you. I think he's willing to forestall his own pleasure to accommodate you. But I think he wants you very much, so much so that he fears losing control over himself. I think he would have then." For some reason, this made Lyla laugh. "But that is the nature of men. You tell me you wanted more. Do you know what more is?"

"Love making?" Maerad guessed.

"Well, _yes_," Lyla said pragmatically, "but no. I'm going to venture a guess that this man might know his way around a woman, which is good for you. We're complicated creatures, not as easy to please as grabbing up our skirts. But he's not going to do those things unless you tell him."

"That's a good thing," Maerad said slowly.

"You should make him _want_ to do it." She smiled slyly, her eyes twinkling devilishly in her beautiful face. "Love making was described to me as a battle once, where both parities compete for dominance, but, if done properly, both win. You should make him so keen for you, he can't help but touch you."

Maerad blinked. This didn't sound like what Cadvan had described. "But if all I had to do was ask-"

"A wife asks!" Lyla snapped. "An old and familiar woman _asks_. A lover drives a man mad until he has no choice but to take back what is his. It is _exciting_ for a man to feel their power, so you take it away. Scare them, give them reason to chase you down and take it back."

Maerad wasn't sure that she understood anymore. Being with Cadvan had been exciting, for her. "He enjoyed it."

"Oh, aye, and let me guess. Afterward, he stroked your hair and kissed your cheeks and held you gently in his arms as you both drifted off to sleep?" When Maerad said nothing, Lyla continued. "He'll grow bored of it, bored of you. Give him something to chase."

"Fine," Maerad said angrily, a bit stung by the accurate description of their night. "And what would you do?"

Lyla pressed her lips together into a smile. "I thought you'd never ask."

It was more formal than Maerad expected. Having read the book, Maerad possessed the knowledge of different positions, but she lacked the vocabulary to describe what she wanted. That was the first thing Lyla taught her: how to put words to her feelings, how to say things that men wanted to hear, how to smile and sigh and move in a way that conveyed pleasure. She lectured Maerad on anatomy, explaining where each sex was particularly sensitive and then, referencing the many diagrams in the book, explained how different positions could be used to excite different parts of both bodies.

She even discussed the complicated idea of power during intercourse. It was her experience that it changed hands during sex, sometimes lying with the man, other times, firmly in the woman's control. She explained there were different types of men, and that some men liked to constantly feel in control, but she doubted that Maerad's lover was that. In her professional opinion, he seemed like a man who might enjoy a powerful woman, but, conversely, would not allow himself to be dominated by her. It was a delicate balance, but she insisted that if Maerad was aware of it, she could use it to her advantage. She could make him want almost anything if she leveraged his desire with her understanding of his body. Maerad found this topic intriguing because it called back her last encounter with Cadvan. Had had seemed perfectly in control at the time, but had mentioned that wasn't always the case. It made her feel…powerful.

She mentioned this in passing to Lyla, who agreed. "Yes, of course, that's the whole point. Most men don't want a woman who just lies back and waits on him, they want a woman with passion and fire. A woman who is unafraid of herself. You're a little witch, aren't you? They say you have power, don't you ever use it?"

Maerad thought of her power. The power to destroy the Landrost, the power to make the Song, the power to turn into a wolf and speak to Elementals. She'd always shied away from that power, even been told by Bard after Bard that her power was so immense, so dangerous that she must always exercise caution. The times she'd let herself feel her Gift, her blood singing and her mind completely open to the full force of her power, she'd inadvertently destroyed something. She'd been told to be afraid.

"Sometimes, you have to be careful with power."

Lyla gave her a satirical look. "Who taught you to fear yourself?"

That night, as Maerad lay in bed, massaging her ribs that were sore from the corset, she considered these words at length. _Why did they teach me to be afraid? _

* * *

Cadvan, Saliman and Finlan were summoned to join the highest-ranking Hulls the next night. They had no delusions as to what this conference was for: they were are the shores of the Lir River. From their vantage point upon a low rise, the Bards could see the city of Lirigon spread before them, and, in a rather painful contrast, see the massive, roiling dark army behind them. Word had already been distributed among the ranks: tomorrow they would march on the city.

The three Bards were taken to the tent and found a small collection of Hulls, Ignalt among them and Likud seated at a table. There was a map of northern Annar spread out before them, arrows like rivulets running about the cities of Lirigon and Innail. The Hulls spoke in the language of Den Raven carelessly. They knew the course of the war, they knew their superior forces, coupled with the might of their master returned to power, would win out. When the Bards arrived, they seemed almost on the verge of a celebration.

"Ah! But here they are, our guests of honor," Likud announced, standing and tipping his head ironically in the direction of the three. The red eyes in the room rested on them hungrily. "Come, come, don't stand in the door like beggars, have a seat, relax. Would you like a little wine?"

The Hulls made room and the Bards could see that two small woods stools have been left empty by the makeshift fire. The three passed by the Hulls, the hair on the nape of their necks standing on end. Every sense they had was telling them to flee, like a rabbit passing beneath the eyes of a wolf. Finlan collapsed onto his stool gratefully but Saliman and Cadvan eyed the second with dislike.

"I'm afraid we're a little short of supplies," Likud said with a narrow smile. "But, Cadvan, you can take your usual place, yes?"

Cadvan dropped to the ground before the fire without a word and the Hulls guffawed. Likud watched a moment longer, and though he didn't laugh, there was still a razor sharp smile etched on his face. When the Bards stared back with bland indifference, Likud sat back down, hands spread over the map.

"I do not think I need to tell any of you how important it is to me that this city be destroyed." Likud looked down at the map, tracing a circle around Lirigon with a gloved finger. "This city and its Bards outmaneuvered me once, but not again. When the end comes this time, it will be swift and merciless. This is not Ettinor, this is not Norloch, this is not even Turbansk. We will set this city and its people to the sword."

"The slaves?" asked a Hull curiously. "Our master will need more slaves."

"More slaves he will have, but not a city full. We cannot spare the men to escort them all back to Dagra when we must still march on Innail. The Bards, we will need. There is work for the likes of them in the Dark Tower. The humans…well, there is only so much a human is good for. Half the common folk can live."

The Bards had expected this sort of cruelty, but it still struck all three of them as unnecessarily harsh. Only _half _the city could live. Cadvan looked away into the fire and Saliman bowed his head.

"The city will challenge us," Likud continued thoughtfully. "This will be no Ettinor, where the people surrendered the School for their own sakes. The city folk here have a love of the School and their pathetic Bards, and so they will not offer us a trade. Our first priority will be to breach the walls. I want this done in a day."

The Hulls murmured their agreement, but Saliman's shock must have shown on his face because Likud smirked at him. "Yes, little Bard?"

"The walls of the city will not be so easy to break as you seem to think."

"You think not? You think of the Bards of Lirigon have some force stronger than the army that battered your city to pieces?" Likud glared at Saliman. "The walls of Turbansk were far greater than Lirigon, and its soldiers better trained. This city will crumble under the might of our army."

"The battering rams are ready, the archers prepared," said one of the Hulls. "We can break the gates by nightfall tomorrow."

Likud gestured to the Hull for Saliman's sake. "You see? Once the gate is broken, send in the infantry. We'll be met with fierce resistance, it's best to tire them out with the foot soldiers. Once you sense their strength flagging, you can send in the dog soldiers."

The Hull who must have overseen the dog soldiers nodded. "They will get us to the School gates."

"I'm counting on it." Likud tapped the map now, reflecting on the last time he'd seen the School of Lirigon. "The Bards will be in the city, but I suspect the full might of their power will be in the School. We shall show them ours. Ignalt, I don't want the snouts wasted on the city, send them directly to the School."

Finlan glanced at Cadvan and Saliman who both cringed at those words.

Ignalt was exhalant at the prospect. "I look forward to seeing their faces."

"Between the dog soldiers and the snouts, I doubt we'll need any assistance, but there is still the First Circle to deal with. I want them brought to me alive and unscathed."

"That could be difficult," one Hulls pointed out slowly. "They will certainly put up the greatest fight."

"Send those two," Likud said dismissively, waving a hand at the Bards. "They can coax the Bards out for us."

Cadvan started. "You won't get any help sending me there. The First Circle may not trust me."

"Obviously," Likud said dryly. "Which is why you're not going. Finlan and Saliman will be sent to help collect the First Circle, you'll be sitting this one out."

Mildly surprised, Cadvan said, "Then why have me here in the first place?"

"Because I want you to watch," Likud snapped, and Cadvan's frown deepened.

"They will already have word that Ettinor fell. It will be rather suspicious, think you not, to find me in their School?" Finlan asked. In truth, he had no desire to take part in the destruction of Lirigon and even less to have the blood of the First Circle on his hands.

Likud sensed his trepidation. "You are a coward through and through, Finlan. You serve the Dark Lord's pleasure now, and it is his will that you aid in this battle. Or perhaps you have forgotten our agreement?"

Finlan turned his face away, but said, "I have not."

"Good, then you go where I send you, and tomorrow night, I will send both you and Saliman into the city with our snouts to find the First Circle." Likud glanced around at the Hulls. "You know that our master demands them unhurt. We will need the First Circle in their full faculties once in Dagra."

The three Bards looked up curiously at this, but as the Hulls didn't go into any more detail as to _why _the Nameless One needed the First Circles of all the Schools, they could only guess.

Likud leaned back in his seat. "I want Lirigon under our control in three days' time. It will take us a week to get back to Innail, and that School will have more time to prepare. Every day wasted here is going to be two longer there."

"Once the gate falls, the city is ours," Ignalt intoned softly. "No force Bardic or otherwise can hold us back once we're inside the city."

"It had better not." Likud had returned his gaze to the map and was now driving the tip of his fingers into the point marked Lirigon. When he looked back up, his face was a mask of fury and disgust. "I want the city to _burn_."

* * *

The smooth stone floor of the throne room was surprisingly cool even in the heat of the day, so Hem slept when he pleased. Since Sharma had dragged him from Maerad's room, he had seen few other people and succumbed to his isolation mostly by avoiding the waking hours. At first, he had panicked and fought and cursed Sharma, who applauded his antics. He took Hem to the throne room and chained him to his throne so the boy would have to watch while the Nameless One did his work.

What his work was, Hem didn't fully understand. Often, Sharma would sit before a pool where Hem saw flashes of far off places and people. He would speak so softly Hem couldn't hear him, but his mouth moved, forming terrible words that distorted his face. He glimpsed cities with white towers and high walls he thought were Schools, he saw forests burning, rivers turned red with blood. There were people too. Once or twice, he thought he saw Saliman or Cadvan, but he couldn't be sure. A handsome, tried looking fair-haired man standing beside a red-haired woman. The strained face Nelac and the angry face of Enkir. Very frequently, there was a striking woman with olive colored skin, slate grey eyes and long dark hair tied back with scarf. Whenever she appeared in Sharma's pool, Hem craned his neck to see her. Perhaps it was simply that she was beautiful and Hem, as a boy on the verge of manhood found beautiful women confusing yet beguiling, or maybe it was how drawn and sad she seemed and the healer in Hem demanded he do something, but he was conspicuously interested.

Sharma caught him looking once and smiled over his shoulder, taunting. "Want a closer look, boy? Want to see the world from the pool?" When Hem made no move to join him, Sharma's smile widened. "Or, do you want to see that woman? Come, boy." He snapped his fingers and Hem felt the collar at his throat jerk him upright. He stumbled forward, unable to catch his feet and landed heavily at the pool's edge.

"You see, Song Boy, from my pool here I may watch the entire world turn. I know how my war in the north progresses and can bend my will on the armies of the Light. I can even see how your beloved Saliman fares if I chose and reach out my hand and touch him with my will." Sharma waved a hand and the water was disturbed by a breath of wind. Hem saw Saliman seated before a fire in a low tent, his face grim and his eyes dark. "I can watch Nelac of Lirigon being marched southward by my Hulls, and I can touch his soul, making is shrivel and weaken." Again, the water was disturbed, the smallest waves rippling its surface before Nelac's face swam into view. He was astride a horse, his hands bound and his head bowed. He seemed a small toy-doll version of himself. "I could watch your sister in the whorehouse if I wanted. But I don't want."

Hem opened his mouth to demand to be shown Maerad, but Sharma held up one finger and Hem's throat tightened. "But the woman, yes. Nerili of Busk." The water rippled and she returned. She was seated at a desk, looking over a letter and sipping a glass of wine. After a moment, she closed her eyes and rested her face in her hands. Sharma watched gleefully. "She is the First Bard of Busk, the last School my army will have to conquer, and so I turn my will against her. I curse her with nightmares that haunt her waking moments. I reach out my hands and feel the very contours of her form. Her will is already breaking. By the time my forces arrive, it will be too late."

Hem knew only as much of Nerili as Maerad had told him: she was a powerful, kind Bard, a truthteller like Cadvan, wise as Bards far older than she. Maerad had not mentioned that she was beautiful. Hem set aside that thought for later, uncomfortable with it when Sharma was right beside him. He chanced a glanced up and saw a strange expression on Sharma's face though. The Nameless One was staring at Nerili hungrily, his dark eyes sparkled in the shadows of his face, his mouth was open just a little so he might draw sharp breaths, he watched her every movement like a hawk might a field mouse.

Gradually, the expression slipped away, but Sharma still watched her, now his face tilted slightly, considering. "I see everything in my pool. From here, I can send forth my will and make it reality. The Song lives in me, and so its power is mine to command. I will make the world to my desire."

Hem recoiled from the pool and the visions in it. "You haven't won yet," he said mulishly.

Sharma's face whipped around snakelike, his eyes flashing like glass. "Foolish boy. This world is mine, it just doesn't know it yet." He knelt so he and Hem were on level with each other and Hem inched back form the manic expression in Sharma's eyes. "Tell me, what would you want? The girl? Poor little Zelika who died before you could tell her how you felt?"

Hem's shock must have shown on his face, because Sharma laughed cheerlessly. "You have no right to speak of her. Not when her death is on your hands."

"Just mine? Perhaps, had you done a better job caring for her, she'd still be alive. Like how Saliman protected you from my wrath. But no, you were too busy worrying about your sister and the Light." His words were like ice and Hem shuddered, unwilling to admit he was right. "And where did that get you, boy? You and your sister are mine, and the Light will soon be extinguished. You tried and failed. Does that hurt?"

When Hem didn't respond, Sharma snarled and he felt a growing pressure in his mind suddenly burst behind his eyes. Hem cried out, clutching his head. "Stop! Stop it!"

"I'll take that as a yes," Sharma said succulently, straightening back up. "Now, go make yourself useful and set my dinner. I've a hunger like no other…"

And so, Hem would sit and watch while the Nameless One worked, serving as assistant to his cryptic spells. He served as a cup bearer also, and Sharma frequently demanded wine, which surprised Hem since he thought that Sharma was long past hunger or thirst or any worldly comfort for that matter. He piled his plate with food and would serve him his meals, and Sharma would tease him and throw half eaten bits of meat at him. At first, Hem refused to eat those, but after three days of no food, Hem realized that _was _his only meal, and he'd have to accept it. He couldn't play an instrument well, but Sharma would make him sing in the quiet hours of night, keeping him entertained when the world fell silent. He even forced Hem to tell him stories of his time in Turbansk, which Hem hated the most because it felt like a betrayal to his friends and loved ones there.

Hem learned to sleep when Sharma was viewing the world, for Sharma rarely needed his help then, but it was always brief periods, a few hours here and there, and Hem's existence became one of dull fear. Sometimes, people were brought before the Nameless One, prisoners from Turbansk, and Sharma would sentence them to horrible torments in his dungeons. There was always a moment of startled recognition when the Turbanskian saw the young Bard chained up like a dog on the leash, watching them from the shadows. Their eyes would meet and in that brief instant, they would feel each other's fear and agony like it were their own, and they would both be left to wonder who had the worse punishment. During this time, Hem never spoke, never showed the least compassion to these people, because he knew Sharma was watching and hoping that one of the men or women might be a friend. Hem was eternally grateful that none were.

There were also strange periods when Sharma fell totally silent and poured over books and notes. Hem wondered what spell he was trying to cast now, for he was certain this was what Sharma was trying to do. But he couldn't image what awful enchantment the Nameless One might now be trying to perform that he had completed his greatest one to date and captured the Treesong. Once, when Hem tried to glimpse the paper that Sharma was writing on, the dark lord struck him with such force that Hem slid across the room and hit a wall. When he woke, he found the room empty and dark.

* * *

"Come with me, little Bard, I've just the place to observe." Likud stood before Cadvan, Saliman and Finlan, his eyes on Cadvan. "There's a nice little place just up the hill where we can watch the siege."

Cadvan grimaced. "I'd rather just stay here." Considering that he was currently tied to a post dug into the ground, surrounded by horses, that spoke volumes to his dislike.

Likud smiled tightly. "It wasn't a suggestion. Come quickly, I want to see the show from the beginning."

With little choice, Cadvan followed Likud toward the hill, leaving Saliman and Finlan to look on worriedly. It was still the dark part of the morning when the stars were beginning to fade but the sky was inky blue. In the distance, Cadvan saw the fires of Lirigon burning brightly in stubborn opposition to the Black Army. As painful as it was to look on the city he knew would soon lay in ashes, Cadvan's heart beat proudly: Lirigon would not be cowed by the Dark. They crested the hill and Cadvan had to concede it was an excellent place to see the city, there was even a tree to offer shade.

Likud was staring out over the city, his face rather reflective. "It's been a long time since I've seen this city, Cadvan. I almost miss it. It will be glorious to watch it fall." Likud turned to face Cadvan and his eyes gleamed. "It is so _right _that you and I will watch this together. When you stopped me all those years ago, I think I knew you and I would be drawn to its destruction again. There is no one I would have liked to watch this with more."

Cadvan was standing away from the edge, and from his point of view, Likud was silhouetted against the bright city and the edge of his cloak looked like it was on fire. "I hate you," he said vehemently. "I hate you more than I hate the Nameless One."

Likud threw his head back laughing. "You don't hate me yet, Cadvan, but you will. We've just only barely scratched the surface. Once we're back in Dagra, once I get my hands on you and that Pellinor brat, you'll learn to hate me in earnest. Now, come over here."

Likud led Cadvan to the tree on the hill and pushed him against it, then looped a length of cord around his wrist, tied it as tightly as he could, and strung it around the tree to his other wrist. Though he knew it was pointless, Cadvan gave a brief tug to see if the knots loosened, but they didn't. Likud nodded out to the city.

"I'll stand right next to you and we'll watch while the city falls together. And no turning away, Cadvan! You will keep your eyes on that city until the battle is done and I take you down there to see what's left." Likud fixed Cadvan with a serious look. "If I find you looking away at any point during the battle, I'll let our master know and sweet little Maerad can bear his wrath."

Cadvan lifted his chin defiantly. "I won't let you hurt her."

"Then open those eyes of yours and watch."

The battle began slowly enough, just like the tide coming in. The sun's light had just begun to stretch over the horizon when the slaves set to felling trees to make bridges. It made an awful sound, sending the birds skittering through the trees and over the city. Like an alarm sounding for the citizens of Lirigon, as soon as the birds had disappeared over the city, the people emerged. Men and women dressed in armor were seen marching along the battlements. In the distance, Cadvan could see the chilly glint of spears and arrows and he felt that confusing mix of pride and fear. He knew they could not win, but he was pleased to see them fight.

Before the sun had even risen properly, the trees were down and the makeshift bridges were trembling under the weight of the infantry. They streamed across to the opposite shore and fell into ranks just out of reach of the archers. With the sun finally up properly, the war machines began moving across the river and the city walls trembled in their presence. The dog soldiers were prowling the opposite side of the river, sniffing at the air and the flesh and blood on the other side. In the mess of the trees, the snouts were waiting, their eyes trained on the white walls of Lirigon.

The gates opened and a line after line of soldier marched out. Like Likud had predicted, Lirigon didn't have nearly as large an army as Turbansk, and their first contingent of men was dwarfed by the Black Army. They lowered their spears as the infantry pressed forward and prepared to charge, but, just before the infantry could reach the line of men, arrows rained down from the gates. Cadvan drew a sharp breath as the wave of infantry men collapsed under the deluge and then retreated toward the river. At the gates, the defenders of Lirigon were unmoved, their spears still lowered.

The masters of the Black Army were at the soldiers' heels, whipping them back into formation and urging them toward the city walls once more. They gained momentum coming on at a run, and Cadvan was sure that they would overwhelm the small array of soldiers at the gates, but this time, instead of arrows, the ground itself seemed to explode. Dust and dirt flew into the air and a strong breeze from the north showered the Black Army in the detritus. But the impressive display hadn't just been scare tactic as the small canyon now running around the wall of the city began filling with water from the Lir River.

On the hilltop, Cadvan gave a hollow whoop. The Bards had broken the ground all the way to the river, creating a makeshift moat about the city. The infantry of the Black Army stared aghast at the newest barrier to their conquest. Likud, standing before Cadvan, cursed.

"Well played, little Bards," he murmured, eyeing the moat and considering the best way to cross. He noticed the slight smile on Cadvan's face and lunged at him like a snake, grabbing a hank of his hair and snaping his head back and forth. "Don't rejoice, Cadvan. Our army will cross the little river, and once we do, those gates will fall. The Bards have only bought their people some time."

Cadvan knew Likud was right, but he felt like cheering with the defenders of Lirigon all the same: This battle would not be so easily won.

The Hulls began driving their soldiers with greater intensity. With the moat before them, the slaves were now cutting more trees and having to transport them across the Lir River and to the moat. However, as soon as a tree was laid down on the moat, flaming arrows launched from the city, rapidly burning the logs. The Hulls eventually had to erect barriers around their logs to prevent them burning, but the Bards of Lirigon had prepared for this. As soon as a log was laid across the moat, the placid water would turn ravenous, frothing like white rapids and dragging log after log away. While the moat ate the Black Army's materials, the soldiers that had come from the gates swelled until a few hundred people marched back and forth. The Bards among them were casting charms, creating more powerful shields, spelling their armor.

It was noon before the slaves of the Black Army were finally made to swim to the opposite shore of the moat to secure logs on the other side. At first, the Bards of Lirigon hesitated to call up the wrath of the water, but when the first log was properly secured so that the rushing water couldn't dislodge it, their minds turned. As slave after slave entered the water, the river rose up and sent them swirling down stream, those that made it to the other side were shot down with arrows. The Hulls were once again forced to cast spells, this time protecting their slaves from attack. In the early afternoon, the first logs were secured in place so that a small, unsteady bridge crossed the moat, and the battle began again.

The Black Army was able to cross the moat, but the bottleneck of one bridge proved costly. As men appeared on the other shore, the defenders at the gate and the archers on the wall could pick them off one by one. Of course, the Black Army had men to spare, and while soldier after soldier died crossing the first bridge, slaves were frantically making the second, the third, even the fourth bridge. Bodies began piling up on the shore and they were kicked into the water until the moat seemed to be made of nothing but corpses.

By late afternoon, the slaves of the Black Army had constructed additional bridges and the infantry could cross. They were still tasked with avoiding the arrows, but their shields, coupled with the spells of the Hulls, served to protect them. They massed on the opposite shore, preparing to once more charge the gates, and the soldiers at the wall readied their weapons.

Likud leaned forward, face aglow with excitement. "Lirigon had the morning, but I'll have the day." Beside him, Cadvan set his face in a grim, straight line.

The Black Army charged. Like before, the arrows came down and men were falling, but there was an abundance of soldiers to take their place. The Bards at the gate threw up their hands and a wall of White Fire rose up like a wave to crash down on the approaching soldiers. They fell back, but only for moments before their masters ordered them back. They crawled over the bodies of their dead companions, but as soon as they passed the White Fire, they met the sharp teeth of spears and swords.

From far away on the hill, it was difficult to see who was winning because the White Fire was burning through the air, and the dust hung in the sky like dew, and the arrows poured over the walls. The battle seemed to go on for ages, the line of the Black Army pressing forward only to fall back when the fighting was too intense. To distract the archers, the Black Army released wers and they attacked the archers like hawks dropping form the sky. With the archers occupied, the Black Army's forces pressed their advantage and soon the people of Lirigon were caught up against the wall.

When it seemed the soldiers might all be slaughtered by the Dark, a cry went up and the gate was flung open at the same time as another series of random explosions rocked the earth. The Black Army was thrown backward and the men and women at the gate poured into the city and the safety of the charmed gates.

Above it all, Likud hissed, eyes narrowed and Cadvan said as casually as he could, "I'd call that a draw."

Likud struck him smartly across the face. "The day will be mine yet. The gate will fall."

So began a long period of exhausting struggle. Though the soldiers had retreated into the city, they took up positions along the walls. With the added help, the people of Lirigon were able to drive back the wers and once more focus on the army. The walls of the city were far more than simple walls, though, and many charms of protection were laid into their foundation. As the Black Army set about trying to batter them down, they were thrown back; if they tried to mount ladders, they were set ablaze, nothing seemed to work. In the early evening, Likud seemed to reach a consensus with his Hulls and a group of them, accompanied by dog soldiers crossed the moat and set to breaking the gates.

Now the might of the Bards of Lirigon would be tested. As the Hulls worked to weave a charm that would blast the gates asunder, the Bards of Lirigon crafted a countercharm that would stop them in their tracks. At the same time, the Bards set to weather working, and the northern wind that had blown the dust into the eyes of the infantry now swirled and howled and a storm gathered above the city gates.

When the rain came, it was like a monsoon, and the Black Army would have been washed away if not for the power of the Hulls that tried to force the storm back. Cadvan felt a thrill watching the Hulls struggle to break the gates and hold off the storm. He knew, too, that Likud had grown furious at the stubborn resistance of the Bards, because the Hull paced back and forth, muttering low curses and snarling at the city. Cadvan didn't doubt that the weather-working would have to cease as the Bards couldn't keep it up forever, but until the sun set, the rains pounded the Black Army.

Finally, as the night rolled in, the rain ebbed. The Hulls desperately launched their attack at the gates. The air prickled with energy and Cadvan sensed a strong enchantment building. It grew inexorably, the air crackling with the spell until he thought his ears were going to burst. At first, he was confused, because only the most powerful Hulls could have the strength to bend the air around them, but Cadvan wondered if this was more than the Hulls. Could the Nameless One be aiding them from all the way in Dagra?

_You're only just realizing this now? _asked an amused voice in Cadvan's ear, and he jumped like he'd been burned. It had been almost three weeks since he'd felt the touch of the Nameless One, and his sudden appearance scorched Cadvan anew. _I am always with my servants, even when they stray so far from me. Behold the power of the Song made flesh._

As if that was the cue, the force building up in the Hulls was released. There was a bust of dark light and then the sound of an echoing boom. Cadvan's attention shifted back to the city and he saw that the shield around the walls and gate was thrown into sharp relief and a spider web of white lines glowed in the darkness before fading. But it didn't break. Cadvan drew a deep, shaking breath, for the force of the first blow had sent quakes through his feet and made his teeth ache. Then the energy began to build up again, and Cadvan knew the Hulls along with the power of the Nameless One, were going to strike the gates a second time. He never took his eyes from the gates as the blow fell again, and this time, a terrible keening sound like a fissure running through thick ice filled the air. As the shield around the city glowed once more, the webbing at the gate flared brightly and flickered out. Still it held. Cadvan knew, though, that the third blow would break the charm. When it came, a sound like cracking thunder filled the air, getting higher and higher until it reached a pitch so intense it hurt Cadvan's ears. The webbing at the gate shattered like glass.

The silence that followed was like a deep breath. The soldiers of the Black Army were waiting to see the next line of defense from the Bards, the Hulls were waiting for the counter attack, and the Bards of Lirigon were gathering their wits as the reality of the situation settled over them. Then, all at once, a cry went out from the Black Army and the dog soldiers streamed forward, spitting acid as they launched themselves into the gaping dark hole where, only minutes before, gates had stood.

Cadvan slumped against the tree, knowing it was only a matter of time now before the city was destroyed. Beside him, Likud breathed, "And the night goes to me."

* * *

"Come fast, there isn't much time, the Black Army is already in the second circle. I expect they'll be to the School by tomorrow."

Hekibel tore her gaze away from the burning city below. In the dark, it was difficult to see the details of battle, but if the fire sputtering to life were any indication of their progress, the Black Army was making excellent time. Personally, she thought that Selmana's guess was generous and that soldiers would be pounding on the gates in hours, but then, the Bard of the School of Lirigon seemed sure. She closed the window with a snap and Irc fluttered back into her arms.

"I don't understand, I thought they would go to Innail," she said sharply. The last few months of apathy brought on by the loss of Saliman were washed away now that Hekibel actually _saw _the Black Army. She thought of her demands of Silvia that she be allowed to stay and fight because she didn't care if Darkness came for her. Now, seeing the beautiful city going up in smoke around, she realized how foolish she had been. She didn't belong in battle any more than Irc. "How did they get here so fast?"

Selmana shrugged helplessly. "I'm sure many of their soldiers died of exhaustion on the way, but the Black Army can spare those men. They must have known that Innail would send its people here, and they sought to crush our mounting resistance."

"But there is a resistance? There's a chance?" she demanded.

Hekibel studied Selmana with a hard face. She was not what Hekibel had expected, having met Silvia. She'd expected another beautiful, wise woman with a thoughtful face and elegant gestures. Selmana was taller than Hekibel and lean, she kept her hair cut short, just past her ears, and wore plain tunics and pants and her hands were rough and callused from her work as a master Maker. But, just like Silvia, Selmana seemed at once more removed and yet more present than any normal person. There was a certain energy in her eyes that suggested she was very much aware of her surroundings, but she seemed to view it with logical indifference. The horror waking around her didn't seem to terrify her as it did Hekibel. No, this woman stood tall and straight, her brown eyes calm and her voice measured.

"There is chance for our people to escape and flee. The First Circle began the process as soon as word came that the Black Army had passed the Imlan river. You'll have to go with the refugees."

Hekibel fingered the folds of her gown nervously. "Go where?"

There was horrid booming then the sound of stone crumbling as the Black Army launched debris back into the city, toppling its towers. Hekibel flinched but Selmana merely frowned. "I think you must go west to Busk on the island of Thorold. They will certainly be the last School to fall by virtue of their isolation. I've prepared a letter for you to show to Nerili, the First Bard there. She will give you refuge."

"I'm shipped off to my next keeper?"

Selmana sensed the tension in the young woman's voice and joined her at the window. "Nerili is a great Bard and a good woman, and I think she will agree that you must be kept safe."

Hekibel looked askance at Selmana. "I'm not a Bard. Could I not simply flee to a normal village?"

"This Darkness is not something you can outrun." Selmana watched as part of the wall caught fire and clenched her hands tightly. The years and skill that had gone into the crafting of the city walls was, among Makers like herself, considered the crowning achievement of the city. To see them burned hurt her heart. "And I do not think it is wise that you should try. From what you and Silvia told me, you and Saliman were very close. I think the Dark will be searching for you."

"Why me?" She rubbed Irc's wing joints to calm him as a series of cries rang out from the city.

"You say Saliman and Hem were looking for Maerad because she held the key to defeating the Nameless One? I think it very likely that if the Nameless One truly keeps him prisoner in Dagra, he will want you, if only because of what stands between you and Saliman." She turned away from the window and Hekibel saw a distant look on her face as she fell into memories. "It is the nature of the Dark to use that which we love against us. It suits them very well to take beautiful things like love and friendship and turn them against themselves."

Hekibel couldn't bear the emotion in the woman's voice and bowed her head. "But will I be any safer in Busk?"

"Thoroldians have a bit more fire in them," she said with a sly smile. "I have no doubt the Black Army will come for them, but they will put up a spectacular fight."

"And this…_Nerili_ will not mind my being there?"

"I heard she harbored Maerad and Cadvan when they fled Norloch. She's a friend and ally to our cause." Selmana gestured to the room where Hekibel's pack was waiting on the bed. "I see you packed and are ready. We may as well not wait any longer, it will only be more difficult to go."

Hekibel eyed the pack ironically. She had been in Lirigon merely five days when the Black Army appeared. She hadn't the time to unpack. "Where will I go then?"

Selmana led Hekibel with unerring speed from her home and toward the School stables. Hekibel's horse was shifting nervously in her stall, pawing at the ground with each encroaching boom. As Hekibel saddled her, Selmana took the mare's snout and spoke in a soft voice to her, explaining that they had to make great haste west to the shore where passage could be procured. The mare trembled as the city shook and tossed her head when Hekibel tightened her girth.

Selmana spoke as she led Hekibel and the mare toward the inner circle of the School. "There is a passage behind the School that will lead into the mountains. After about a mile, the path splits and can be taken east and up, or west and down. Take the westward fork. It will not be pleasant, it will be damp and cold and there will be little light, but after a day or two, it will open to the Lir River. Ride west with the mountains over your right shoulder until you reach Culain. There you can buy passage to Busk." Selmana said all this very quickly and gave her a stern look. "Repeat it."

Hekibel repeated back her instructions with certainty. "How much is passage for myself and a horse?" she asked, feeling for the few coins in her pocket.

"Don't worry about that," said Selmana, pressing a small purse into her hand. It was heavy and Hekibel suspected that might have been an entire season's worth of coin in her hand. "Don't take cheap passage, pay a proper sailor, and go under a different name." She turned to the crow, not sitting on Hekibel's shoulder. She said something sharply to the crow, and Irc chirped back in a clearly offended tone. "The crow has agreed to scout ahead for you each morning. If there is danger on the road, he'll pull you'll hair."

Hekibel flashed Irc a quick smile. "Always a help, aren't you?"

Selmana was looking out over the city, and in the distance, the sky was turning purple with sunrise. "Right. There's little time now, come, child."

Selmana led Hekibel at a run through the School. She had the briefest glimpse of men and woman arming themselves, before they vanished down an alley that ran along a rock face. They just reached the back of the Singing Hall when another older Bard came darting from the shadows, looking despairing.

"Calis, what is it?"

The Bard, Calis, looked behind her, her face dark. "The way through the mountain is watched. Winged wers have gone through the tunnel, chasing after the children and elderly we sent. I fear they have caught them…" Her voice trailed off and it took Hekibel a moment to understand that those people were probably dead.

Selmana cursed. "How did they know?" she demanded.

Calis tossed her long hair off her face. "By the Light, I don't know. Perhaps the Black Army tortured the information from a Bard, but only the First Circle ever knew."

"Nelac of Lirigon was Enkir's prisoner," Selmana hedged, unwilling to believe that the kind, old man who had taught her in the early years of Barding could have betrayed them. "Perhaps it was taken from him?"

Calis bowed her head. "I would pray to the Light that the Dark didn't tear that from his mind, but the damage is done."

Selmana glanced at Hekibel and she felt something cold settle on her shoulders. "It's done? What do you mean?"

"There is no way out of the city," Calis said blankly. "The roads are shut. The Dark has sprung their trap."

Fear bubbled up in Hekibel and she grasped tightly at the horse. She had been loathe to leave for Busk, if only because it meant traveling alone and scared for weeks to beg safety from another Bard, but now that she was faced with the impending Black Army, she would have given anything to be in the tunnel now. "But then-what do we do?"

Calis and Selmana shared a long, meaningful look before Selmana turned about and took Hekibel by the arm. "It means you will go back to my house in the First Circle and I will spell the door. Then I must go to join the First Circle and prepare to attack."

"And what will I do?" Hekibel asked in a small voice.

"You will wait until the very last minute, then I will send a Bard for you to bring you to join the First Circle. They're coming for us, not killing us, you see. When the generals of the Black Army reach the First Circle, I will make a trade for your safety."

"_What_?" Hekibel demanded, looking at Calis whose face was calm. "You can't be serious? We're just going to wait until they come?"

Selmana face was hard. "I would much prefer to die defending my city than to be a prisoner back to Dagra and the Nameless One's torments, but if I die, your life is forfeit. So yes, we will fight until there is nothing left to fight for, then we will surrender and hope for the best."

Hekibel opened her mouth, but snapped it closed as Selmana took the reins of her horse from her. She led her silently through the city and back to her house, throwing open the door and waving her hand so the torches and candles flickered to life. She pointed to the sofa in the study and Hekibel sat until Selmana returned with a plate of cold meat and cheese, bread and a bottle of wine.

"This battle will last another day at least," she said slowly, turning to leave. "Don't leave the house until one of my Bards come to get you."

Hekibel stood, feeling like she should offer to help, but Selmana was already turning and gone.

The silence that followed in her wake was all-consuming. Hekibel ate the food Selmana gave her not because she was hungry, but because it was something to do as the sun rose. She wandered to the window of the study and though she couldn't see into the first circle, the first two circles of the city were ablaze. She shuddered as an explosion rippled through the town and she saw a building in the distance collapse into flames. Irc landed on the window ledge and cried out plaintively, wishing they had not left Innail.

Hekibel drew the curtains on the window and sat back down before the empty hearth to wait. As the hours crept by, the noise of battle filled the air, coming closer and closer. Soon, she could hear shouts and screams, horns blaring, the roar of fires as they consumed the city. She nervously watched the door to the study, but at noon, when no one came for her, she cracked the door open and peered into the street. It was surprisingly empty and she guessed that the Bards had been called away to defend the School. As the sun arched across the sky and the shadows of evening reached out, Hekibel began to pass from study to door and back again, listening for the sounds of approaching Bards, or, worse, the cries of the Black Army.

_I wish Saliman were here. He would know what to do, s_he thought, feeling very small and childish in the face of the war.

The sun was setting when the ground trembled below her and she heard something like a gusting wind. She tore to the front door and opened it enough to see debris go flying down the street, bits of the shingle torn from roofs, loose cobblestone ripped off the ground, small plants and dirt from front gardens. It all when soaring down the road in the direction of the Signing Hall where Selmana and the First Circle were working. Irc, trembling on her shoulder, screeched and fluttered back into the study.

_Somethings happened, _she thought, her heart beginning to beat erratically. _Something happened with the Black Army. _

The sun began to set again, and it seemed to Hekibel that it went faster than usual. She supposed that the smoke now billowing out of the lower rings of the city might be clouding the light. A cold wind blasted down the street and stole into Hekibel's heart, and even when she wrapped herself in a cloak, it didn't go away. She drew close to the hearth and struck a fire, but it had barely begun to burn when it flickered out. In that moment, all the candles and torches winked out, and the room was doused in darkness. In the fractured light of the half moon, Hekibel could see the smoke circling lazily toward the ceiling.

"Irc, come here!" she said quickly, and the crow darted under her cloak. "I don't think that Bard is coming for us. We'll have to try and make for the Singing Hall ourselves." She looked around and saw the bottle of mostly empty wine. She smashed it and chose the largest shard.

She'd just laid her hand on the door when a terrible cry cut the air. Then another, and another, and horns were blaring and there were snarls on the wind and high pitched screams of children. Hekibel peeked through a gap in the door and saw, perhaps a block or two away, the ominous orange glow of the Black Army. Suddenly, the streets were alive with Bard, their hands glowing with White Fire, their faces a mask of terror. Hekibel readied the shard of the glass and was about to dash out to join the crowds flocking toward the center of the school when a howl rent the air and something huge crashed into the fray.

Hekibel clapped a hand over her mouth at the sight of the thing: like a dog, but built all of metal, and the creature upon it, wreathed in flames. It landed with a crunch and the cobbles cracked below its feet. It turned, opened its mouth, and a jet of bright green acid exploded from its maw. The people nearest fell back, clutching their burning flesh. Hekibel slammed the door, locked it, and scrambled back to the study.

"The Light help us!" she cried, not even caring she was alone with no one to hear her. Irc was frantic, flapping his wing and snapping his beak at anything near him. Hekibel grabbed a blanket from the couch and wrapped him in it. "Be calm, Irc, it's okay, it's okay. No one knows we're here."

_No one knows we're here._

Hekibel dropped to her knees and crawled behind Selmana's desk, tucking herself in the footwell. No one knew they were there, no one was looking for them. She thought of the city burning down and wondered if this building would be put to torch too. Outside the screams were now intermingled with war cries, children shouting, hounds howling and horses' screams. She pressed her hand to her mouth, stopping a dry sob before it escaped.

At first, she thought the hoard might pass her and she could try and slip from the house and down to the gate, but even as she considered the logistics, she heard the creak of the front door. Irc, still wrapped in the blanket soiled himself and Hekibel tightened her grip on the knife until it cut her hand and small droplets of blood pooled on the floor.

Footsteps came. She heard them pass the study and head for the bedroom, shifting objects, a door closing. The footsteps went next to the kitchen but left there soon too. Finally, they came to stop outside the study entrance. She lifted the glass shard, drawing a deep breath. They would find her soon, and she wasn't going to die like a coward. Surprise would win out this time. But then she noticed the shadow on the ground.

_No._ Dread reached down into her stomach, twisting her innards.

She'd lifted the blade, but the moonlight had cast a shadow of her hand and weapon on the floor before the fire. The figure had stopped moving and she knew they had seen her. The silence stretched longer and longer while she tried to decide what to do. Did she wait? They would come around the desk and slaughter her while she crouched on her knees. Did she attack? They would still kill her, but she would die fighting. She briefly remembered Saliman and Hem, sacrificing themselves so she could get away. They had fought even though it was hopeless.

_And so will I._

One more deep breath and Hekibel threw herself out from under the desk. She stood, glass shard raised to stab whatever might stand in the other side, but when she turned to her opponent and the moonlight caught his face, Hekibel's hand went numb. She stared blankly, mouth ajar.

"Hekibel?" Saliman asked, looking like he'd seen a ghost. "What are you doing here?"

She dropped the glass shard just as Irc escaped his blanket. When the crow saw Saliman, it cawed in delight, swooping down to his feet. Hekibel couldn't find words, none that made the least sense anyway, and instead tore around the desk, across the room, and threw herself into his arms. She took his face in her hands, searched his eyes, and then pressed her lips against his while the fires in the streets blazed higher and Irc demanded they flee.


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter Twenty-One

Cadvan slumped in his bindings, watching the sun rise on the third day over what was left of Lirigon, and his heart constricted. He watched the smoke drift up forming clouds of ash in the sky, saw the gaping hole in the gate where fire still poured out onto the field before the city like a dragon's mouth, watched buildings topple as their foundation withered away. The white stone walls were blackened and charred, the red clay roof tiles dribbled like rain off damaged homes, the streets were clogged with bodies.

_I can never go home, _Cadvan thought bleakly. Suddenly, he didn't remember when he had last been home, what he'd done, who he'd seen. He just knew it had been too long since he'd walked the streets of Lirigon, and now he never would again. _Even if, by some miracle of the Light, the Nameless One is defeated, I can never go home._

In the distance, there was a rumble as a huge structure that might have been the library collapsed. Cadvan sighed-the most he could do bound as he was-and wished he was anywhere else besides that hill just then. Likud, though, was beside himself. His face was open, his eyes glowing, and he burst into manic laughter as a plum of dust rose up around the collapsing building. He leaned forward, as if to absorb the destruction like a flower might sunlight, and shuddered with pleasure. Cadvan watched him darkly from beneath his hair and Likud spun about, gleaming at him.

"I told you, Cadvan, that I would destroy Lirigon. I told you, didn't I?" He darted forward and pushed him up against the tree.

Cadvan, who hadn't broken Likud's word of command was still staring at the city. "How much longer do I have to look?"

Likud's eyes danced. "I _told_ _you_, Cadvan, didn't I?"

Cadvan tipped his head. "Yes, you said that."

"You'll know again next time," Likud whispered against Cadvan's cheek, "you'll know that when I make an oath, I keep it."

"I'll know again," Cadvan agreed in a dead voice, hoping Likud would release him from his miserable vigil.

Likud studied Cadvan carefully; his voice sounded resigned, but the Hull doubted Cadvan had surrendered. "Good," he finally said, circling behind the tree and slicing the ropes that bound him there. "Let us go and see the full extent of the army's work. I'm sure you're as keen as me to see what became of your School.

Cadvan turned gratefully away from the scene before him rubbing his aching wrists and followed Likud back to their camp and Darsor. They rode swiftly down the path the army had taken, and Cadvan was horrified to see the corpses of the Black Army's own men. They were trampled and twisted, and Cadvan supposed they had fallen in the charge and been stomped to death under the weight of their comrades. It served as a bitter reminder that the Dark was merciless to any and all. They crossed the makeshift moat, which, without the magic of the Bards to summon up its power, had been reduced to a gently flowing stream that circled the city. At the gates, an unbearable odor of death hit Cadvan and Darsor, and they spotted the first bodies.

The people of Lirigon and the soldiers of the Black Army were scattered together, barely indistinguishable under the mud, and their blood formed bright red pools on the cobblestones of the streets. Cadvan paused, unable to look away from the sight of his people strewn about like so much trash, and felt an overwhelming despair come over him. He saw upturned faces set in the final grimace of death, eyes opened wide and fearful, teeth bared in a snarl. The soldiers of the Black Army were no better to look at: in their dark helms, Cadvan could just glimpse their lifeless eyes staring at some unknown assailant.

Likud gave little mind to the bodies at the gate, keen to reach the School and snapped at Cadvan to hurry. Darsor gave a sudden cry as dogs began to emerge from the shadows, sniffing at the dead bodies. Cadvan ordered the dogs to leave the dead alone, but the beasts didn't understand him and snapped and barked at Darsor, who bucked backward and galloped to join the Hull.

"They don't understand the Speech, little Bard, these dogs are of Den Raven," Likud said with relish as the first of the salivating hounds took a bite out of a man. "Hurry, there's more to see."

They left the gate and began the journey through the city. It was a terrible sight, and Cadvan thought that if he could cover his eyes and ride blind, he would have. It seemed that once the gate had fallen, the Black Army had made quick work of Lirigon. The roads had been torn up under the feet of the army so that cobblestone lay all about, buildings had been burned and only the charred frames remained, all the beautiful architecture had been broken by petty, malicious soldiers. Homes had been broken into and the people dragged out into the streets to be slaughtered. In some places, corpses littered the roads in such high density that Darsor had to be coaxed to pass through, not wanting death on his hooves. There was a callous indifference to the slaughter, it didn't seem to matter whether the victims were young or old, man or woman, they had all died on the edge of a blade.

Cadvan felt like he was walking through his own personal Hell and he began to wonder if this was some punishment for all his crimes in the past. Each street was a unique nightmare: here children had been murdered cowering in their school rooms, there a family was being eaten by wild beasts, and there, soldiers of the Black Army were searching the bodies, scavenging what they pleased and killing any men or women who still drew breath. Cadvan reached for Arnost and for a moment, he forgot his oath to the Nameless One and his fear for Maerad, and he prepared to send Darsor charging forward to defend a shrieking woman who was being violated by soldiers. But her screams recalled that vision of Berludh, and the anger went out of him and he slouched in his saddle.

When they reached the Street of Makers, Cadvan cried out in horror. It had been obliterated. The pottery, the art, the fabrics, the metal works had been strewn in the street and crushed under the war machines of the Black Army. The buildings didn't look like they'd been burned so much as eroded and Cadvan suspected the dog soldiers had been through. Fires flickered here and there, snapping up canvas tenting, and still, bodies peaked out from the rubble, bruised and broken like their shops.

"Don't be so dramatic," Likud hissed, reveling in the sight. "It was shit pottery to begin with, always that horrid red clay. Complete lack of variety."

On they went, and Cadvan wanted Darsor to slow his pace, because they were rapidly approaching the School and he feared what he would see. The gates to the School had been completely blown off their hinges and Cadvan saw into the first courtyard. Bards were huddled there, clutching at each other while dog soldiers snarled at them and snouts teased them with weapons. They were terrified at the approach of Likud and Cadvan, but he saw the same confusion and fear on their face as he had seen on the Bards of Ettinor and the unspoken question lingered over them: how did it come to this?

The School seemed mostly undamaged, at least compared to the rest of the city. But Cadvan held no delusions. He knew that the School stood for now because it would serve as a rallying point for the army, but they would destroy it on their way out. The Nameless One would not allow even the memory of Lirigon to stand in opposition of him. They passed by more tight groups of Bards, and it seemed the victory of the Black Army had come by their forcing the Bards back into the School, herding them like sheep for slaughter. Here, they were trapped and at the mercy of the monsters of the Dark, waiting to see if they would be spared or killed.

Cadvan followed Likud through the School and realized they were heading for the Singing Hall. He wasn't really surprised to find that the First Circle had gone there so cast their last, hopeless defense. It was imbued with ancient powers and spells cast there were thought to be more potent. The Singing Hall had not been spared the ravages of the Dark, and Cadvan saw soldiers tearing bits and pieces that might have been of value off it. One of the great wooden doors had been pulled free of its bindings and was underfoot of a dog soldier that was clawing at it, consumed with madness. The other door hung limply in the frame and Cadvan ran his hand over the familiar markings engraved in its wood once more before it crumbled.

Inside was a strange scene. Four Bards were on their knees before a contingent of Hulls, their heads bowed but their backs stiff and straight. Finlan was collapsed in a chair, his face startlingly grey and haggard and his eyes rather dull. Saliman was standing apart from everyone, his arm wrapped protectively around a small, slim figure. It took Cadvan only a moment to recognize the comely face of Hekibel. When he looked at her, she glanced up and he saw her bright green eyes scan him suspiciously before taking hold of Saliman's hand. A white crow was tucked in her arms.

Likud clapped his hands together cheerfully. "I see the First Circle has been brought to me. Excellent. And, Saliman, look, you've found that woman of yours, how sweet." Saliman drew Hekibel tighter against him, furious at Likud's attention. "A happy ending all around, don't you think?"

The Hulls chuckled at Likud's display. "There's still work to do in the School," Ignalt said speculatively. "We won't be able to leave for a day or so while we set it all to rights, but I think this went quite well."

"Indeed. Send word at once to our master that Lirigon is fallen, and I'm sending the First Circle to him." At his words, the members of the First Circle glanced up, horrified. Cadvan started, recognizing Selmana. She must have seen him too, because she stared in his direction, her eyes wide. Likud noticed the exchange. "Ah, that's right. But you and Cadvan know each other quite well, don't you?"

The Hulls in the room swiveled about to stare at Selmana, who swallowed nervously under their gaze. The other members of the First Circle seemed to notice Cadvan for the first time. One man frowned darkly, the older woman, Calis, searched his face for signs of guilt. Selmana, however, cleared her throat. "I am not pleased to see my friend here."

"But you call him your friend?" Likud found this intriguing. "Even after he murdered your cousin? Even after he almost brought about your death? How noble of you."

"Forgiveness is the path to Light," she said with dignity. "Though what dark fortunes brought him into your care, I dare not guess."

Likud sighed, shaking his head and turned to face his fellow Hulls. "Bards, they can't even _hate_ properly when I need them to." The assembled Hulls sighed in exasperation and Likud drew nearer to Selmana. "You say you're willing to forgive Cadvan? Would you be so kind if you learned he betrayed your cousin's memory and has taken another lover? Does that not sting at all, the knowledge that he no longer loves her?"

Selmana didn't dare look at Cadvan in fear her face might show her hurt. She shrugged. "I knew Ceredin as well as anyone, and I feel confident that she would not have wanted him to spend the rest of his life alone mourning her."

Likud glared at the Bard. "Well, you'll certainly have the opportunity to discuss such matters with him tonight."

Cadvan studied Selmana closely. It had been years since he'd traveled to Lirigon and perhaps longer since he'd seen her, but she seemed little changed. Perhaps there were more lines in her face, perhaps her eyes were a little darker, her hands slightly aged, but very little else showed the years that had passed. She caught him looking again, and though he didn't smile, his face softened.

Likud had now turned his attention on Vaclal, who was kneeling beside the man who had given Cadvan a dark look. He gestured around the hall expansively. "I suppose this must be difficult for you?"

Vaclal was an older man, even by Bard standards. His dark brown hair and beard were streaked with grey, his face was lined with age and his figure, which once must have been trim and lean, was now just thin. He sighed heavily, but when he looked up, his eyes were bright with anger and fire. "Lirigon was a beautiful city, a beautiful School, and while I mourn its passing, the memory of such a place will live on in the hearts of all who saw it. Do not think that by breaking our walls you have broken our hearts."

"Noble sentiment," Likud said dismissively. "But we don't have time for such pretty words. You must be curious as to why you were spared?"

"I can only assume you have some special torment in mind for the First Circle?" His eyes flashed dangerously despite his current predicament.

"Your Circle will serve our master nicely, yes, but I meant do you know why I have spared _you_? Surely, a First Bard is powerful enough that they should be put down before they can cause more damage?"

Vaclal glanced at Finlan, whose face was resting in his hands. "It doesn't seem as though being a First Bard threatens you."

Likud followed his gaze to the Ettinor Bard and bared his teeth in a snarl. "Pay no mind to him, for his purpose is almost served. When the war is over he'll be rewarded the most merciful gift our master can grant a Bard: a fast death."

Vaclal closed his eyes. He pitied Finlan, it couldn't be easy to travel with the minions of the Nameless One, knowing your death was fast approaching. The thought of the slow passage of time, accompanied by the dull ache of fear only exhausted him. "I do not know why I was spared."

"Because a First Bard has the Gift necessary to summon more servants for my master, and there is a School yet that must be destroyed."

"Innail." Vaclal saw the woman pressed against Saliman glance up, face pale. "I have no interest in serving your master, least of all in this most foul of tasks."

"You know," Likud said, learning casually against a pillar, "that's exactly what Finlan said. How predictable you Bards all are. Tell me, Vaclal, what makes you think you have a say in the matter?"

Vaclal shook his head. "Unless you force my mind, I will not summon any creature of the Abyss."

"Then you care not for the safety of your people? If you refuse me in this, I'll have them all butchered."

"You already were," Vaclal said slowly. "Even now your beasts circle them, preparing to pounce."

"Not quite. You see, our master wishes them to live so that they might serve him in Dagra. However, he is not above seeing them destroyed for the sake of victory. If you serve me, I will see all the little Lirigon Bards sent safely south where they can live the remainder of their days under his watchful eyes."

"You give them the choice between death and slavery?"

"No, I give _you _that choice, Vaclal, for you are the First Bard and they are your people." Likud's eyes danced with pleasure and he began to slink forward. "It's rather abstract, isn't it? The weight of your authority? You Bards pride yourself on your wisdom and compassion, and as a First Bard, your heart and mind are held in highest esteem. But you so often put it back on the people: you let _them_ decide if they will fight or flee, you let _them_ decide how to die. Now, you will demonstrate your wisdom, Vaclal, and show the Bards how true your heart is! Decide for every man, woman and child in all of Lirigon what their fate will be!" Likud leaned down into Vaclal's face, almost spitting in his manic raving. "Feel the weight of your decision. Feel the weight of your power and realize you are not fit to carry it."

Vaclal had recoiled but there was nowhere to hide from Likud's bright red gaze. "This decision is nothing to do with my power."

"Have them all killed, or have them all slaves, what is your _just and righteous_ desire?"

Cadvan and Saliman both pitied Vaclal. They understood the cruelty behind such an ultimatum because, in this case, there was nothing just or righteous about either choice, and in making it, Vaclal served the Dark.

_It almost seems easier to surrender to the will of the Dark, _Cadvan said to Saliman while Vaclal cast around desperately for a way out. _No matter which decision he makes, history will hold him accountable for endless suffering._

_I think that is the Nameless One's desire. _Saliman looked down on Hekibel, who was almost dead on her feet with exhaustion and fear, and he rubbed her back. He'd been given the same choice and he knew how it had gone. _To prove that the wisest servants of the Light are as Dark as he is._

Cadvan watched as Vaclal's face fell and he told Likud in a resigned voice that he'd rather his people lived. Likud had chuckled and told him it would be done to his desire, but only if Vaclal agreed to serve the Nameless One. In this, Vaclal hesitated, but it seemed that once you'd made one deal with the Dark, others followed.

_I pity him and all Bards who will know more of the Dark than anyone has a right to by the end of this, _Cadvan said sadly.

That night, the First Circle, Finlan, Saliman, Hekibel and Cadvan were left to their own devices in the Singing Hall. Naturally, they were guarded by dog soldiers and snouts who would occasionally come in to check that the Bards were still there and not plotting. Iris had been charged with bringing them food, and they all made a great show of being kind and grateful and polite to set her at ease. She studied the woman with Saliman closely, at first horrified that he had gotten her by some dishonest means, but with more interest as it became clear Hekibel enjoyed Saliman's company. After a meager dinner, they sat in silence with each other around a small fire Selmana made from debris, but after an hour, the sounds of screaming and crying from outside drove them to speak.

"So, it seems we are destined for Innail," Calis said absently, staring into the fire. "A shame, for I have a great love of that city and no desire to see it razed."

"I think you will not need to worry. The First Circle of Ettinor is even now being sent to Dagra, I suspect you will go the same way," Finlan said. He hadn't recovered so much as pulled himself out of his stupor and was curled up on the floor.

Calis stretched. "Then I pity you all the more. But tell me, how is it you came to be in the service of the Nameless One?"

Finlan shrugged. "I had a choice to make, like all of you."

Calis seemed to find this a suitable answer, but the other male Bard on the First Circle was staring at Saliman and Cadvan from under his hair. "And tell me, how did _you two_ come to be in his service? For surely, you are not First Bards?"

"Coglint," warned Selmana.

Saliman flashed an ironic smile. "Quite the contrary, _I am_ First Bard of Turbansk. The Nameless One says so, so it must be true."

Coglint didn't respond to Saliman but turned his unhelpful gaze on Cadvan. "And you, Cadvan? Will you once more claim some mistake of youth, or will you admit to your allegiance to the Dark?"

"Coglint, stop." This time, it was Vaclal who spoke in a low, dangerous voice. His recent encounter with Likud hadn't put him in a mood to hear about good Bards trafficking with the Dark.

Coglint tore his gaze away from Cadvan to stare at Vaclal. "It's a neat coincidence is all."

"I suppose I will have to live the rest of my life with the suspicion of Bards?" asked Cadvan in a hard voice. Having witnessed the destruction of Lirigon had put him in a foul mood, and he had little interest in entertaining ignorant Bards. "Thank the Light my life will be lived out in darkness then so I will not have to see you!"

Selmana saw the despair in every line of Cadvan's body. "I know too well how much you hated Likud. That you travel with him is by no choice of yours, be sure we know that."

Coglint suddenly felt very childish for his outburst, but old memories died slow, and he had been in Lirigon when Cadvan had been expelled. But with Vaclal, Selmana and Calis glaring at him, and Cadvan looking so bleak, he felt obtuse. "I meant only to ask how you came to be here, not to accuse you of treachery," he said stiffly.

Cadvan smirked at Coglint, but his anger was already fading. "I had a choice to make." Finlan laughed hollowly.

"And that choice put you in the service of the Nameless One?" Vaclal asked softly.

"Unfortunately, yes." Cadvan paused a moment, then held out his upturned wrist with the Sick Moon. The First Circle gasped at the ugly mark, none the least because it looked painful. "Someone I cared for very much was in danger, and this was the only solution."

Selmana recalled Likud's words and wanted to ask Cadvan who it was he cared for so much that he had scarified his freedom. But she waited. She doubted he would say much before so many people anyway. Instead she said, "Have you seen him then? Have you actually gone before the Nameless One?"

"We both had that unique pleasure," Saliman said darkly. Hekibel stared up at him in shock. "I imagine we are part of a very few who went before the Black Throne and lived to tell the tale."

"He is returned?" Selmana asked with trepidation.

Cadvan bowed his head. "He is far more than returned to his former self, he is stronger. He has managed to…_complete_ the spell he wove ages ago. Not only is he immortal, he is terrible and powerful. I think it is his will that stretches across the land, sneaking into the hearts of Bards and people alike."

This statement was met with silence. Finlan was thinking of Ettinor, of the School that had so betrayed its own people they had surrendered the Bards without question. "You said, though, that there were two Bards who he needed. Perhaps they can stop him?"

The First Circle whipped about to face Cadvan and he silently cursed Finlan. "Maerad and Hem of Pellinor…but even they cannot foresee his end. They both think something is amiss with his spell, but they don't know what."

Vaclal nodded, though he barely understood. "I take it that is how you and Saliman came to be in Dagra? You were traveling with these Pellinor Bards?"

"We were their teachers," Saliman said gently.

Selmana shifted uncomfortably at the mention of Maerad of Pellinor. Though she'd never met the girl, she had been in Pellinor when Milana had given birth, and she remembered the unsettling dreams she'd had the month that followed. Dreams of strange music and snow and the beautiful, star girl who had saved her from the Bone Queen years ago. She felt a strange urge to find the girl. Milana had been kind to her when she stayed on in Pellinor, going so far as to personally teach her the art of Making. She owed Milana.

"And they are still in Dagra?" Selmana asked.

"Yes, but they are safe," Saliman said firmly. "We've seen to it."

"Safe in Dagra?" laughed Coglint in a harsh voice. "This is truly the stuff of stories."

"We'll be there soon enough," Selmana said thoughtfully. "We'll see for ourselves."

The talk seemed to sour the conversation, and soon, the Bard slipped into their own thoughts. Saliman had unashamedly wrapped Hekibel in his cloak and was holding her while she slept. It was the first time in months he felt calm, and the relief showed on his face. Vaclal and Finlan were deep in a whispered conversation, discussing what role they might serve in Innail. Coglint and Calis had drifted into uneasy sleep, or had simply closed their eyes, hoping sleep would come. Selmana moved to sit beside Cadvan.

"I meant what I said, you know," she said softly. "Ceredin wouldn't want you to live alone."

Cadvan didn't look at her but breathed out heavily. "I think I knew that for a long time, but I didn't know how to live it."

Selmana leaned back and watched the fire crackle. "Am I correct in guessing your great sacrifice was in the name of Maerad, and she is the woman who Likud meant when he said you have forsaken my cousin?"

"Just so." Cadvan saw no reason in denying it, least of all to Selmana. She deserved the truth after what he had done to her and her family.

"Daughter of Milana of Pellinor," mused Selmana. For some reason, she found this almost amusing. "I suppose if you had to go love another woman, I wouldn't be happy with you if it weren't someone of such quality. You know, I had strange dreams when that girl was born. Anghar, the star girl, returned to me. She never spoke, but she appeared to me one night, drenched in moonlight and singing. It had been a long time since I'd seen her."

Cadvan stirred, turning about to face her. "Anghar? The Moonchild?" he chuckled to himself. "That is no surprise, I think. Anghar has many names and once she was called Ardina by the Bards of Afinil."

"I know," said Selmana. Though she didn't admit it, after the defeat of the Bone Queen, Selmana had spent much of her free time reading about the Elidhu who had saved her. Anghar, Moonchild, Ardina, these were all names she knew.

"Did you know then that Milana is her descendants?"

This pulled Selmana up short. She gawked. "Milana of Pellinor is related to Ardina?"

"Elemental blood in the House of Karn. Both Maerad and her brother have extraordinary Gifts, capabilities far beyond any common Bard, far beyond even great Bards." Cadvan remembered again the night he'd spent with Maerad before leaving. She'd looked just like Ardina when she sat in the pool of moonlight. "They share a bit of their Elemental wildness."

A small, selfish part of Selmana wanted to meet Maerad immediately. As she had grown and came to understand her own heart, Selmana had been forced to admit that she had briefly fallen in love with Anghar, but as years passed she dismissed the hope of every seeing Anghar again. Though she dreamed of Anghar, though she believed that no woman she had seen since could compare in beauty, she had put aside that fantasy. Loving Elementals wasn't safe, even for Bards. But this…this was a woman of flesh and blood, a woman with Anghar's blood. Would she be like Anghar herself? She looked sideways at Cadvan out of the corner of her eye and wondered what he had done to deserve the chance to love such a woman.

"I didn't know. Milana never made mention of such a secret."

"I doubt she would have. You and I both know Elemental blood isn't a gift among Bards, and if you could see what Maerad and her brother could do, I think you'd know why." Cadvan sank into some memories and Selmana waited for him to speak. "I have seen Maerad do things I thought impossible, do things no Bard has a right to. There is a wildness to her that scares me at times."

Selmana watched a spark leap from the fire and land on the floor where is fizzled. "You must be careful with her then."

Cadvan grimaced, scratching at the whiplashes on his face. "I've learned that too."

"Cadvan of Lirigon, forever bound up in the fates of the Elidhu," she chuckled softly, thinking of Ceredin's Gift for foresight, a sign of Elemental heritage. Her eyes moved to Saliman, asleep now, arms wrapped tightly around Hekibel. She supposed that regardless of how grateful he was to find Hekibel alive, he must have been in terror of their fate. "I fear there is much Knowing we Bards have ignored, and all to our ruin."

Now, Cadvan couldn't shake the image of Maerad from his mind, and he answered distantly, "I'm tired of regretting. I've done enough of it in my life."

Selmana caught his hand quickly and he looked at her. "We must have hope, else we betray the Light and everything we love. Remember that."

* * *

Nelac shifted uncomfortably on his mare and urged her onward. They had been travelling steadily for over a week and the poor horse was exhausted. Nelac had asked the Hulls to pause for more than a night at the Amon River, but they had chuckled and threatened to butcher the horse if it couldn't keep up with their pace. After that, the mare had fallen sullen and silent, and Nelac spoke soft, kind words to her, to keep her from giving into fear of the Hulls. Now, they were wending their way through the Suderain, and Nelac reckoned they would reach the ruins of Turbansk in a few days' time. He was nervous of this and had no desire to see the bleak remains of such a beautiful city. The Hulls escorting him were particularly joyous at the chance to ride through Turbansk, and thought they might stop there a night to share news with the occupying army.

That night, the Hulls directed Nelac to sit among them at their fire. He hated the prospect but didn't see anyway of denying them. He didn't know their names, but recognized that one was the leader by the heavy iron ring it wore with the Sick Moon. This Hull gestured to the seat beside it with a narrow smile.

"Come, Nelac of Lirigon. You must be so lonely with only a horse as company." The Hull's white teeth were drenched red by the firelight.

Nelac took the seat, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end. "I much prefer the horse."

"That's not very nice," said the Hull, glancing at its fellows who chuckled softly. "I thought you were one of the most eloquent Bards in all of Annar and the seven kingdoms. I expected you to be a bit more polite."

"I detest you and your kind," Nelac said clearly, eyeing the Hulls darkly. "Your very presence here in an affront to all things good and pure."

The Hull leaned close so that Nelac had to stare into its red eyes. "What pretty little words. They won't get you very far, though. You see, our master has a way with words too, names, to be more specific."

Nelac looked away into the dark landscape around them. "I am not afraid of Sharma or his names."

"Yet." The other Hulls had stopped speaking at the mention of the Nameless One's use name. "He will make you fear him. You will cower before his might and beg for forgiveness. All you little Bards are the same in the end: beggars."

Nelac was overcome with the memory of Cadvan crouched on the floor holding Maerad while the Nameless One bore down on them. He shuddered. "You may be surprised by the resilience of the Light. We refused your master once, we will do it again."

The Hull was finding Nelac's resolute determination annoying. "My master will break you."

"Perhaps, but I will still die a servant of the Light." _Brave words, _Nelac added to himself.

"You'll live as a servant of the Dark, idiot Bard," hissed the Hull, resisting the urge to strike the old man. The Nameless One had been firm when he said to bring Nelac to him unharmed, but still, the desire to hurt him was difficult to grapple with. It would have been so easy to break his frail bones.

"And I'm sure that frustrates you," Nelac said dryly, sensing the Hull's quivering anger.

"Not at all." The Hull stood and threw another log on the fire. "I will enjoy watching you and yours tremble under our master's might. I will laugh over your pathetic, pleading corpse. It will be suitably entertaining."

Nelac bowed his head, unwilling to continue the conversation, but when he rose to return to his mare and the softer patch of ground he'd found to sleep on, the Hulls stopped him. He was to remain with them, listening to their talk of the Dark Army, and their savage whispers of their Master. Nelac slouched low before the fire, waiting for the night to end.

After that night, the Hulls kept Nelac close by them. He was to ride between them, not behind, and so was privy to the conversation. He learned, much to his horror, that Maerad and Hem were in the Dark Tower, and were captives of the Nameless One. The Hulls speculated as to what particular torments might be visited on the children and when their master would allow them the opportunity to see their vengeance, for Maerad had wronged them when she blasted the Hulls at the Broken Teeth. They discussed the battles in the North and their regret they were not there to watch the Schools fall. They wondered when the armies of the Dark would turn on Busk, the last School to fall. Nelac was tired with hearing tales of torment by the time they reached the remains of Turbansk.

It was a miserable sight. He had visited the School often and asked Saliman on many occasions about his favorite places and memories. Seeing the broken remains was like a sharp pain in his breast. It was fairly deserted of the Black Army, but there were still Hulls there, ordering the departure of the slaves. Nelac noticed that the majority of the captives were Bards, and that the Hulls had been correct in their predictions that the Nameless One craved them as slaves.

A few of the Bards were surprised to see an old man travelling with Hulls, and a small number recognized him. To find Nelac of Lirigon a captive of the Dark seemed to drive out whatever small hope was left in them. The Bards bowed their heads to the sight and not a few wept. The Hulls led Nelac on to a series of large tents where the captains of the Black Army were relaxing and planning their next move. Upon their arrival, on the Hulls stood and bowed mockingly to Nelac.

"My, my. Are we so lucky as to be in the presence of the _great_ Nelac of Lirigon?" the Hull asked to the clear enjoyment of its fellows. "Here I thought I would never cross paths with a servant of the Light such as you. I tread darker paths."

"A shame we must see each other at all," Nelac agreed stiffly. "I could go my entire life without bandying words with one such as you. You make me sick."

The Hull grinned. "Not nearly as sick as you're going to be. You see, we will leave Turbansk soon, to meet a contingent of our soldiers returning from the North. They bring the spoils of war."

Nelac noticed the Hull beside him perk up. "So the news is good?"

"A decisive victory." The Hull's gleaming eyes were resting on Nelac's face. "Three days was all it took to destroy Lirigon. The city is in ruins, the people are our slaves. We will help escort them back to Dagra."

The blood drained from Nelac's face. He had thought that it would be months before the Nameless One sent his army north. He thought there would be time for his people to prepare for battle.

_I thought there was time…_

Nelac's horror shown on his face, and the Hulls laughed and snapped their fingers like it was a good jest. "You will not be alone with us long," assured the Hull. "The First Circle of Lirigon and Ettinor will keep you company. You can watch while your people are herded like sheep for the slaughter."

Nelac's hands clenched, but he could think of nothing to say. Lirigon had been destroyed by the Dark. There was no retort, there was no curse. His home was gone. Now, even if he somehow survived the Darkness of Dagra, he had nothing to return to, and that thought left him far more desolate than anything else.

* * *

Two more days they spent in Lirigon, watching from the Singing Hall as the soldiers set to work ordering the Bards about. Like a stream running its course over rocks, men were separated from women, children from adults. Great lists were composed of names, ages and Gifts. Bards milled about in large groups, dull fear slumping their shoulders and setting their faces in frowns. Slowly, they began the process of emptying the city, sending groups out of the gates with contingents of soldiers. They left with nothing but the clothes on their back and the shoes on their feet: where they were going, there was no need of possessions.

With the city emptying, the Black Army set to work looting and pilfering. Cadvan saw soldiers carrying piles of finery about, bragging how they would trade it for riches in the south, crowing about the spoils of war. He saw many of the Bard animals slaughtered to feed the soldiers. He also observed an almost relentless and malicious desire to destroy. There seemed no reason for it, but the soldiers were tearing buildings down, crushing even the stones that had made up walls into dust. Dog soldiers went about spitting acid on the structures and burning them, statues were toppled then crumpled underfoot of war machines. It was like the Black Army was trying to erase even the history of Lirigon.

It was especially difficult for the First Circle to watch, and Vaclal drew into a deep silence that no one seemed able to break. Coglint and Calis watched with tears in their eyes, even Selmana covered her mouth to stop the gasps of horror that would have otherwise escaped her. They were not visited by the Hulls in this time, for which they were all grateful, and only Iris came to feed them.

At the end of two days, though, Likud visited them briefly to let the First Circle know it was leaving in the morning, and that they should make themselves ready. Vaclal, he had said with a twisted smile, would remain behind to assist in the battle at Innail. With this news, Saliman had weakly tried to convince Hekibel to go with Selmana, but the woman refused outright, saying that she had only just been reunited and she wouldn't leave him again for anything less than the Nameless One himself, and even then, it depended on how she was feeling that day. Selmana found this a little funny, and her laughter echoed around the chamber, surprisingly loud.

That night, Cadvan took Selmana aside. "I don't know what you'll encounter in Dagra, but if you see Maerad-"

"I'll tell her you think of her every night and every morning, and that you are well and unharmed, and that you'll be back soon," she said with sparkling eyes. "You and Saliman better keep an eye on that woman in return. This is no place for a Bard let alone a young woman, and I promised Silvia I'd protect her."

Cadvan cast a glance over to the pair. Hekibel was diligently combing her hair with her hands while Saliman stood by, look as fiercely protective as a lion. "I don't think my help will be needed."

"All the better," Selmana agreed.

The parting of the First Circle the following day was emotional. It was evident from their words and glances that they shared a deep love for each other, and Vaclal seemed especially loathe to go. He went as far as to ask the Hulls who came for the Circle to consider keeping them together, for surely if creatures of the Abyss were to be summoned, the more powerful Bards present the better. The Hulls laughed at his pleading but ignored his request. Calis grasped his hand firmly in hers.

"We will travel with our people, Vaclal. We will see them taken safely to Dagra, and guard them from the worst of the Dark. We will do our best to keep them fed and clothed once we're in the city."

Vaclal smiled grimly. "I _will_ return to you."

The rest of the First Circle farewelled Vaclal, Finlan, Cadvan and Saliman and Hekibel and left somberly. Vaclal watched them go before returning to the Bards. "It hurts my heart to see them leave, but I think Calis is right, someone must go with the School to see them safely on their journey."

"You have a wise Circle," said Saliman, watching their retreating backs. "They will do good by you."

After the First Circle left, though, spirits reached a new low among the remaining Bards and they passed their final night in quiet desperation. Finlan still didn't seemed recovered from whatever the Hulls had made him do and lay down, watching the fire flicker. Vaclal sat silently by the windows of the Singing Hall looking out over his ruined city. Cadvan and Saliman, though, were by now used to poor company, and seemed little changed. Saliman took the opportunity to introduce Cadvan to Hekibel and he found her surprisingly witty and humorous given her current predicament. Personally, Hekibel found Cadvan a little forlorn,

clever and terribly handsome.

"So, you were the one we were looking for?" she asked shrewdly. When Cadvan's blue eyes flicked over her, she felt herself blush, but twisted her face into a wry smile. "Had us running over half of Annar."

Cadvan smiled despite himself. "I wasn't _me_ that was leading you astray. Maerad was off at full gallop, I barely managed to grab the reins and hold on."

Hekibel recognized Hem's sister's name. "She led you on quite a chase then?"

It was a loaded statement and Cadvan thought that had he been younger and fair bit happier, he would have enjoyed some witty word play with Hekibel. As it was, all he could think of was Maerad at the top of the stairs in the Black Tower, staring down at him with her miserable eyes and pronounced frown. "I'm afraid so, but I managed to cling on."

"You know, my father bred horses. He said there was a trick to riding the wild ones," said Hekibel with the smallest sparkle in her eye, "When you ride them it's not about how hard you pull reins, it's about how tight you squeeze with your thighs."

Cadvan raised his eyebrows in surprise while Saliman snorted into his hand. "I'll have to bear that in mind next time. Tell me, has your father any advice for the care of wolves?"

"Wolves?" she asked, startled, but Cadvan merely chuckled.

When they rose the next morning, it was to find Likud staring down on them with bright red eyes and a toothy grin. "Prepare your mounts, we leave within the hour."

Finally allowed to leave the Singing Hall, the Bards cautiously left the building to what remained of the main courtyard. Bards of Lirigon had gone and the place was dead in their wake. The eerily empty city had descended into a silence so deep that the sound of their breathing filled the space loudly. In the lower circles they could see the smoke still curling up to the sky and the glow of fires tearing through the city. Vaclal's face was grey and he didn't speak as they readied their horses and clopped into the courtyard where the Hulls were waiting.

"I see you're not letting your little woman out of your sight," Likud said, watching Saliman arrange the reins around Hekibel who was seated before him. He glanced up sharply and smiled narrowly.

"I've been loyal as always," was all he said.

Likud's eyes roved to Cadvan. The Bard was checking the girth of the saddle and fiddling with the straps and ignoring the destruction before him. "Cadvan. Come, ride with me."

Cadvan grimaced, mounted Darsor, and directed him alongside Likud. "I think I'll be poor company this afternoon."

"Oh, I'm counting on it," Likud said smartly.

The ride through Lirigon was miserable, the wanton destruction almost crushing. The buildings were crumbling as their foundations gave way to fire, brick and mortar piling in the streets. Shattered glass flecked the streets like tear drops and crunched underfoot of the horses. Possessions were scattered in the roads, sad reminders of lives that had been. The worst thing, though, were the bodies laying limply in pools of blood, being picked apart by the dog soldiers. Cadvan averted his gaze, but the stench of rotting flesh filled his senses and left him reeling on Darsor.

"In the end, they went quietly, didn't they?" Likud asked softly as they wended their way through the city. "All their cries, all their weapons, all their bravery couldn't stop the final silence of death, could it?"

"They died honorably," Cadvan insisted, wondering for the first time if he would rather be dead. He didn't have a choice now, but he wondered if he had been able to make the decision, would it have been different?

_Thinking you might like the sweet release of death, Cadvan? _It was the Nameless One, the dark glow of his power like a cloud in Cadvan's mind. _Do you wish for death now that you know what life will be? _

Cadvan hardened his will against the presence. _Don't flatter yourself. I have no desire to die._

_ Pity. It would have made your descent that much faster. _The Nameless One gazed into Cadvan's mind and he felt the stab of an angry conscious. _But we can always go the long way. You and I, we have an eternity together now._

Cadvan recoiled and the Nameless One left him. When he looked back up it was to find Likud staring at him hungrily. The Hull seemed to know what had just passed between Cadvan and the Nameless One, because he grinned openly.

"You'll never be free of him, you know. He'll always be with you." They continued to ride in silence, but as they approached the gates Likud tossed his head back with a wide smile. "Cadvan, I think you ought to compose a ballad for the fall of Lirigon and sing it on the road to Innail. In fact, I'll commission you to do it. In exchange for your pretty words and enticing voice, I'll grant you one favor."

Cadvan was on the verge of telling Likud to go rot in a hole, but the offer made him give pause. He had thought he would have little interest in the things Likud could give him, but as he rode out of Lirigon all he could see was the corpses of the innocent. He could have asked for one of them to be spared, he could ask for Iris to be freed, he could even ask for the snouts to be released from their duties when the war was over. Could he really give up such an opportunity?

"And how long do I have to compose your song?" Cadvan asked thoughtfully.

"How about until we arrive at Innail? The night before battle, you can serenade the generals with your tale." Likud turned back to see the burning city and watched another building crumble into dust. "A lesson for the Bards of Innail of what is to come."

* * *

"Make sure to show the inside of your wrist as you pour! If you've a note hidden in your sleeve, the man will see it and know you've a message for him. But don't _look_ at your wrist, watch the tea. Always keep your eyes averted, you're trying to be coy." Lyla sat back with a loud sigh. "You might as well just kiss the man in public for all the secrecy you convey."

Maerad set the pot of tea down and took her seat. "What is the point of teasing him with the hint of a letter? Why all the games?"

"Because it keeps the courtship _exciting_. A man wants a little taste of what he's buying." Maerad didn't particularly like the use of the word _buying_ but she had learned to put her frustration at Lyla's vernacular aside. "There is as much to the art of seduction as there is the art of love-making. You must show him your long neck and full breasts, your wide hips and narrow waist, yes. But you must also entice him with small things when he can't have you and all your charming attributes. The right smile or eye contact can do more for a man than a glimpse down your gown if done properly."

Maerad slouched in her seat petulantly but a sharp look from Lyla made her straighten her back. "Perhaps I'll never be a seductress."

"Then you're a true whore, aren't you?" Lyla said unhelpfully. "A courtesan is as much an entertainer as she is a lover. Only sluts act like you in public, with no grace at all."

But Lyla saw that Maerad's attention was wavering, and she didn't blame her. The girl had been a bundle of nerves since the morning. She'd had a letter from Jarl's son almost a week ago and he had expressed a keen interest to meet her. The young man, Crestor, had enjoyed the letter she had sent and found her simply _enchanting. _He had impressed upon his father his desire to meet her and the old man had consented and was bringing his son that very night. Though Lyla had explained over and over that he was coming to assess her and determine whether or not to pursue a courtship, Maerad hadn't been able to press down her fear that it would end with her being sold off like a sheep at market.

"Let's just take lunch, shall we?" Lyla asked, not unkindly, and Maerad pursed her lips.

They sat in silence a while, chewing over a bare meal of salad and cheese. Maerad made sure to take small, dainty bites of the lettuce, demonstrating what Lyla called "good breeding" and sipping her water constantly, but her shoulders were tense and Lyla placed her knife and fork aside to smile prettily at the younger girl.

"Have you given any thought as to the gown you'll be wearing tonight? I think red suits you best and you've that lovely thing with the gold trimming. I have a pretty butterfly hair piece you can borrow." Lyla looked at Maerad expectantly, waiting for the girl to thank her. "Or, perhaps green? Red is such a meaningful color, perhaps it is a little too much for a first meeting. I thought that green gown with the gold beading on the bodice complimented your figure quite nicely." When Maerad made no reply, Lyla continued doggedly. "And you'll have to wear your hair down like a maid. You might as well flaunt that while you can."

"And how long will I have to flaunt that?" Maerad said spitefully, looking up fiercely. "When will I no longer have to mind my innocence?"

"Are you really still on this?" Lyla snapped. "Does nothing I say sink into that head of yours? You are a maiden in one of the oldest most respectable brothels in all of Dagra. We do not sell our girls on the first night. A courtship is required. The boy, or more accurately, his father will pay dues to the Madam. Gifts will be sent. You will be truly bought and paid for before that boy ever gets the chance to have you."

"And what the going rate?" Maerad hissed.

"Oh, it'll be months before Mama Lena allows the boy to petition for your services. She made Jarl wait half a year to have me. We practically rebuilt the bathroom with the money that man spent. Besides, you'll have to have a proper coming out, so that all the Grins' sons may assess you. Obviously, Jarl is trying to get his son first rights, and it makes sense. Crestor is a _third_ son, he'll not inherit when his father dies. He can't compete financially with any first-born sons that take a fancy, but if he courts you first and you like him, he thinks that'll tip the scale in his favor. His lowly son can have a mistress fit for a king."

Maerad digested this news slowly, still uncertain. In her experience, lustful men didn't wait months for the chance to have a woman. "I find it hard to believe that some young man who clearly thinks he can buy a woman will bother waiting for what Mama Lena has to say."

Lyla closed her eyes, gathering her thoughts. In the previous month with Maerad, she'd gleaned a little knowledge of the Bard girl's past. Though Maerad never said outright how she was raised, Lyla understood that she harbored a deep distrust of men and naturally believed them incapable of self-control. "You must understand, Maerad, that yes, there are many whorehouses in Dagra where a man can do as he pleases with a woman for the right coin, but you are not a whore. Here, women are groomed to be mistresses to rich men, that is why we spend so much of our time educating and culturing ourselves. Mistresses are not bought for the _evening_, they are long-term investments. I will serve no other man until Jarl dies, and even then, he is expected to leave me some small dowry. The same is said of you. You will be paraded around the lords and their sons until one of them makes an offer befitting your status. Until then, you do not bed a man."

"But I will never-"

"All the better for our house. You will make us money while you're here, smiling and laughing and playing with Crestor. When you go, we keep the money and stop supporting you." Lyla smirked, but Maerad recognized it now not at patronizing but as playful. "Now, what do you say about the green gown?"

"I say that green is day a gown," Maerad replied smartly. "I should wear something dark of tone, the blue gown with the silver detailing."

Lyla smiled widely. "Look at you, my little songbird. We'll make a proper mistress of you yet!"

"All to your patience and good training," said Maerad sarcastically, raising her glass in mock salute.

"Indeed. And I'll expect my payment once your returned to your lord and he rewards you with riches befitting a mistress of your stature. So, if it's blue you'll wear, I think I have a nice shawl you can-" Lyla's words were drowned out by the cries from the hall inside.

Maerad and Lyla stood up as a younger girl came rushing in, waving a paper in her hand and looking excited. She flashed a vicious look at Maerad. "Have you heard? Word has just reached the city! A great victory for our army was won in the north!" She smiled a little when Maerad paled.

Lyla snapped up the letter, ignoring the jerk of Maerad's hands that sent her glass of water tumbling off the table to the floor. It shattered and water began to seep into the tablecloth. "Get a cloth to clean, will you?" Lyla directed at the younger girl. "Go!" Again, though Lyla knew very little of Maerad's role in this war, she and everyone else in the house knew her interests lay with the people of the north, and a victory for the Den Raven meant a terrible defeat for her. Some of girls, who had grown bitter over Maerad's quick rise to popularity, would surely enjoy seeing her brought low. Lyla thought that if Maerad was going to break down into tears, the last thing she needed were the younger girls gossiping about it. The girl went, though she dawdled at the door hoping to hear what the other women would say.

Maerad stared at the letter while Lyla read it, but she saw the script was that of Den Raven and she couldn't read it. She waited impatiently for Lyla to share the news, thinking only of Cadvan and Saliman who must have been at the battle.

"Well?" she asked in a low voice, unable to bear the silence.

Lyla opened her mouth, but the young girl had already returned, and instead, she tucked the letter in her sleeve smoothly. "Come, Maerad, we've got to get you ready for the evening and the _Grin's son_." She the last two words pointedly, hoping to ward the young girl off. "Perhaps he can shed proper light on the battle, not some gossip from a _bannerman_." The younger girl blushed, clearly embarrassed that the letter writer wasn't up to Lyla's standard.

Though Maerad was on the edge of bursting, Lyla hooked her arm around Maerad's and led her from the room with idle chat about how they should style her hair to best highlight her features. They ascended the stairs unhurriedly, taking their time and showing the least interest in the gossip that was now blazing through the halls. When they reached Maerad's room, Lyla directed her to the bed, locked the door, and threw open the window so the sounds of the city filled the air.

"A decisive victory in a city called _Lirygen_," she said without preamble.

"Lirigon," Maerad corrected automatically.

Lyla watched her a moment, but the girl's face remained expressionless. "You've been there then?"

"Heard of it," Maerad said softy.

"Did you have family there?" Lyla asked next, quietly this time.

At this, Maerad laughed, looking out the window. "No, I have no family there."

Lyla couldn't miss the bitter tone, but she looked down at the letter again. "It says the city was captured in three days, and the witches of the north are being sent back as slaves." Maerad shrugged, she had known that would be the fate of the Bards. "And they move to another city. Innail."

Maerad cringed. "How soon will they be there?"

"It would take a week or so to march to the School, but this letter is old. They may already be there." Lyla watched Maerad worry her lip. "Have you been there?"

Maerad's lips twisted into an ugly smile. Should she tell Lyla the truth, that she was known as the Maid of Innail, and that she had saved the city from the armies of an immortal spirit? Would the girl believe her anyway? "I have spent much time in Innail. I have friends there. Did they say what happened to the First Circle in Lirigon?"

"The what?"

"The-" Maerad struggled to find the right words "-the men and women who lead the city?"

Lyla scanned the letter. "No. Though they said the leader of the witches is captive to General Likud and will travel with the army-"

"Likud!" Maerad jumped to her feet, alarm clear in her voice. "Likud leads the Black Army?"

Lyla blinked in surprise. "You know the captain of our master's forces?"

Maerad wrapped her arms around herself, turning away from Lyla to stare out the window. If Likud was leading the Black Army, then Cadvan and Saliman had been sent to him, and that Hull had a score to settle with Cadvan. Memories of their last encounter overcame her, and the viciousness with which Likud had treated him terrified her; Cadvan would have those scars forever. She shuddered, wondering what the Hull was doing to him now.

"I _thought_ I'd killed him," Maerad said thoughtfully. "It appears he escaped our last encounter."

"_Killed him?_" Lyla almost shouted. She spun Maerad around to face her, searching her eyes for any deceit. "What are you playing at?"

"I'm not playing, Lyla." Maerad took a step away from the other girl, looking serious. "He attacked me and my friends while we were traveling. I don't understand, though. The blast destroyed the other Hulls, the wers, even the wight. How did he live…?" Maerad voice trailed off.

Lyla had taken a step away as Maerad fell into contemplative silence. She knew Maerad was a witch who had been captive in the Dark Tower, but she often forgot it during their lessons. But if what Maerad was saying was true, if she had tried to kill the captain of their army…Lyla studied the girl anew.

"Who are you?" she finally asked.

Maerad looked up, drawn from her reverie. She smiled thinly. "Maybe I'll tell you my story some time."


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter Twenty-Two

Maerad brushed her hair till it gleamed in the glow of the candles and carefully pulled back the front into a braid that fell down her back. She wore the dark blue gown with creeping flowers embroidered in silver into the bodice. When she stood to examine herself, she appreciated the illusion of curves the dress created. The door opened and Lyla entered, something glittering in her hand.

"I found this piece for your hair. Something for him to comment on when conversation runs dry," she said wryly. It was a comb decorated with a sapphire flower with gilt edging and Lyla fit it snugly into the braid. She took a step back, admiring the younger woman. "Be sure when you curtsey he gets a nice view of your breasts. I'm not sure we shouldn't tug the stomacher down just a little."

Maerad looked around the room distractedly, not entirely enjoying the thought of her body on display. "I thought you had a shawl I could use to cover up with it?" she asked sharply.

"I do, but I think on the first night, it is wiser to let him see your attributes. If you're too shy, he'll be bored." She saw Maerad's eyes flash and waved a hand dismissively. "Halfway through the evening, suggest a walk then. I'll offer you a shawl to keep the cold off and you can wear it the rest of the night. Better?"

"I don't like this," Maerad said stiffly. "I feel like I'm betraying my lord."

"You're giving him a good reputation. Every man wants a desirable woman. If all the Grins' sons are running after your skirts, but you choose him, it means he has something they don't. They'll be jealous and he'll be smug."

Maerad eyed her narrowly. "I sometimes think you just make this advice up."

Lyla's laugh was like tinkle of rain. "Oh, come now. I've been doing this long enough to know what I'm saying. Let us go meet these men." She linked her arm in Maerad's and led her to the stairs. "And do remember to smile, you look so much nicer when you do."

Maerad felt a shiver race up her spine as they made their way to the base of the stairs and into the sitting room where Maerad had previously played for the Grin. Jarl was seated at a couch, sipping a glass of brown liquor, deep in conversation with a young man. When Lyla entered the room in a flurry of fabric, both men rose respectfully. Maerad, a step behind Lyla, paid close attention to the other woman's gestures.

"My good lords," she said by way of greeting, dropping down into a curtsey. Maerad followed after a beat, sinking as low as her knees would allow. She could feel the intense gaze of the Grin's son on her, but she kept her eyes down. When Lyla came up, a smile was on her face. "How good of you to start drinking before we could serve you."

Jarl laughed good-heartedly. "A little liquid courage never went amiss."

Lyla paused just long enough to let Maerad know she was expected to respond. "Is courage a requirement for this evening?" She still had her firmly fixed on anything but the Grin's son.

"I've found nothing more perilous than a woman's smile," said the young man beside the Grin.

Maerad finally switched her gaze to the young man. He looked much like his father, with an angular face, dark hair and scruff on his chin and cheeks, but his eyes were lighter brown, almost gold, and his smile was young and reckless not predatory. When he beheld Maerad's face, he started, for he had not seen a woman with blue eyes.

Maerad smiled razor sharp then. "Maybe two drinks?"

"You'll join me for one." It wasn't a question, and Maerad bristled at the authority in the man's voice. Her first thought was to say no, but beside her, Lyla was smiling tightly.

"Maybe a little wine," Maerad agreed and followed him to the couch.

Under the deceptively sharp gaze of Lyla, Maerad served herself and Crestor each a glass of wine. She made sure to bend just so that her waist was on display, to tip her head so her long dark hair, scented with vanilla and lavender, fell around her face in a luscious curtain, to turn her wrists so the pale underside was revealed to him. She was also careful to mix her wine with water, as Lyla had warned her all sensible women did, and sipped it delicately. When she settled on the couch beside the young man, she carefully leaned against the pillow, accentuating the curves of her body.

Crestor raised his glass to her. "My father called you a songbird. Do you truly sing like a lark?"

"She does," Lyla interjected while she fixed herself a drink. "She makes the other girls jealous with her voice. The rest of us sound like dying rabbits."

"But even the best birds need partners sometimes. Do you sing?" Maerad asked. It was a bit of challenge. No one but a properly trained Bard could match her for skill, and if the boy did sing with her, he'd look the fool.

But he smiled and laughed. "A little. Perhaps later we can have a duet."

Maerad shrugged delicately. She had little desire to sing with this boy, especially when her last memory of playing with another person was Cadvan. This man couldn't begin to compare to Cadvan's skill or talent, and she hated the thought of sharing her voice with him. He had no right to hear her sing, and certainly no right to play alongside her. "Tonight, I'll perform for you. Perhaps next time, you can bring your instrument and we can share the stage."

The thought of a _next time _seemed to appease Crestor and his eyes gleamed. "I look forward to such an opportunity. Father thinks it's a rather foolish pastime, but I find music absolutely enchanting."

Maerad arranged her face into a smile. "I love music."

Crestor began what was, in Maerad's opinion, a boring conversation regarding the different instruments he owned and those he hoped to master one day. She managed to keep a smile on her face, but it felt hollow compared to the real joy she'd experienced when she was still free. She wondered how the boy never realized that her smile didn't reach her eyes and that she laughed too loudly and too frequently at his jokes, but she suspected he paid little attention to things beside himself.

Sitting in the room beside Crestor made Maerad sick. She wished more than anything that she was with Cadvan-wherever he might be. At least with him, she felt like her true self not playacting some charming, elegant woman. The longer she sat there, sipping watered wine, breathing weakly through a tight bodice and smiling blandly at the banter around her, the more she hated Crestor and Jarl and Lyla. She hated the brothel. She hated Dagra. And she _hated _Sharma for putting her there. Her heart ached for her brother and Cadvan and Saliman and she wanted nothing more than to dump the wine over the head of this idiot boy and go back to her room.

Perhaps Lyla guessed something of Maerad's mood because she placed her glass down loudly after some time. "Since the armies left and took all that soot and dirt with them, the sky has been exceptionally clear. Perhaps we can see the stars tonight?"

Jarl smiled indulgently at Lyla. "What is this young girl's fantasy of yours? Wishing on stars?"

"And if I am?" Lyla said in a hurt voice, though her smile belied the tone.

"My lady, your wish is always my command," he said, standing and holding out an arm.

Crestor watched his father's movement carefully before doing the same with Maerad. She took his arm and he pulled her a little closer than she thought was appropriate. "I care barely feel you there," he said conversationally as they passed into the back garden. "You're as light as a breath of wind."

Maerad smiled demurely down. Truthfully, she had no desire to look into Crestor's face and see whatever confusing mix of emotions the young man harbored for her. She much preferred the ground, but his words still required a response. "Well, larks need to fly."

"Not too far, I hope," Crestor returned. "Though, I imagine you've flown quite a long way from your home. Tell me, how did you end up here?"

Maerad felt her mouth go dry at the memory of the terrible march south and the days and nights spent in terror in the Dark Tower. Certainly, he wasn't asking for that? "It's a long story relate. Perhaps when we have more time I could tell it."

Crestor caught the undercurrent of her mood. He looked ahead and saw his father quite a ways on with Lyla and smiled ironically. "If I may guess, it is not a happy tale? Slavery is not uncommon, and among women, doubly so. I can't think of any other reason why a woman like you is here." When Maerad said nothing, Crestor leaned down so his voice couldn't be heard by the other pair. "Am I right in thinking that Madam Lena bought you?"

"I'm afraid it's not as simple as that, but yes," and here, Maerad faced him. Crestor was taken aback by the directness of her gaze and the proud tilt of her chin, "I was brought to Dagra against my will."

Crestor's mouth went dry because he, like Lyla, sensed a strange pressure building in the air. He didn't know what it was, he couldn't have known it was Maerad's Gift crackling like electricity, but he felt the change around him. "Where is your home?" he asked in the same low voice while the hair on the back of his neck stood on end.

"Gone," said Maerad simply, shrugging her shoulders delicately. "It was destroyed a long time ago by the armies of Dagra. I escaped for a time, but I suppose I was always meant to be here, my fate just hadn't caught up to me until now."

Crestor had only the barest understanding of what Maerad had said, but he saw that she was uncomfortable, perhaps even upset, and tried to change the subject. "It's a shame things like that happen, but you've been fortunate at least to be found by Madam Lena. She takes good care of her girls." He paused, and when Maerad made no attempt to speak, he said, "And of course, you're not really a slave if you're here. You're a woman with her own things."

Maerad smirked. "Things Madam Lena provides."

"At first," Crestor said slowly, "but other things too. A proper mistress can make her way quite comfortably in the world. Lyla has done well of it."

Maerad was surprised that Crestor didn't sound bitter. Lyla was his father's lover after all, competition against his mother. Though she didn't know Milana well, Maerad was willing to wager good money she wouldn't have let her father keep a mistress. "Has she? I imagine a woman as resourceful as her could have been someone's wife."

"Not really," Crestor said after a beat. "She was born a slave on our plantation. My father sent her here when she was a little girl. I think he meant her as a gift for my older brother, but when he came to see her sixteen years after the fact to see if his investment had panned out, he fell quite in love with her."

Maerad was startled by this revelation. "She was a slave?"

"Yes," said Crestor matter-of-factly, "so she's risen quite high since then." He looked at her meaningfully, and Maerad understood the message he was trying to convey to her: if she allowed him to have her, he would set her up nicely.

_I'd rather be stark naked in the tower with Cadvan than dressed in the finest silks with you, _Maerad thought darkly. "If I am half as lucky as Lyla, I think I'll be quite happy." It was bland and careless statement, but Crestor seemed to like it, and returned to lighter conversation, a pompous smile on his face.

They made their way slowly about the gardens, Lyla constantly stopping to point out some star and coo about how beautiful the moon was. Jarl laughed at her innocence and promised there was nothing in the sky more beautiful than her. Maerad surreptitiously tried to mimic the way Lyla moved, copying her gracefully swaying hips, turning slightly here and there to give the boy with her a better glimpse of her figure. Though Crestor spoke to her, his eyes were on her figure, and Maerad was surprised by the flare of power she felt under her skin. Were men so very easy as that?

"And have you ever left Den Raven?" Maerad asked politely. It was another challenge: she had obviously travelled far and wide, did he have the means to keep up?

"Oh no," said Crestor seriously. "It's difficult to travel outside Den Raven unless you're authorized by one of the lords. My father took my eldest brother to the Suderain once to trade. He brought back gifts for the family."

Maerad dropped her gaze before Crestor saw the flare of fury in her eyes at the mention of the Suderain where Sharma had obliterated the Schools. "And have you any desire to travel?"

Crestor shrugged. "Perhaps, once roads are safer and the wars are over. You're from the north, is it very different from here?"

"Yes," said Maerad shortly.

"Then perhaps I'll have to bring you along as a guide," he said happily. "You can show me all the places in the north you've been."

_Your master will have burned them to the ground, _she thought bitterly. "It's a long road, but it could be a pleasant enough journey. With the right company and conversation and music."

"And do you have friends in the north?" Crestor seemed completely ignorant of the current climate and the fact that his people were making war on the Schools. If she had friends, surely, he must have realized they were in danger.

_He's just a careless boy,_ she thought. "Some, but I have not seen them in a long while."

Crestor seemed unsurprised by this answer. She was a slave, after all, and friends and family were frequently left behind. He said indifferently, "Perhaps you will see them again when the war is over. They will be mightily surprised to find you put up in such a lavish house as this, I reckon. Perhaps they'll be jealous by your rise in status."

_I doubt that Silvia will be happy to see me like this. _"Perhaps I will impress on Mama Lena to buy my friends as well."

"So long as they're comely she'll make a handsome profit. People like you are rare this far south." Again, the brusqueness of his tone, the throw-away attitude toward innocent people, ruffled Maerad. "Though, if gossip it true, not for long."

"Listening to whispers?" Maerad asked. She kept her voice soft and playful, but the truth was that she was desperate for news from the north. The girls in the house had little care for wars and couldn't name a single country, let alone a School. But a Grin's son had to have knowledge of the tides of war.

"My father says it's not proper for a gentleman to gossip," Crestor said uncertainly.

Maerad gleamed at him the way she had seen Lyla do with Jarl, catching his eyes and holding his gaze firmly in hers. She smiled honey slow and leaned closer to him. "I promise not to tell."

"Our secret?" Crestor liked the idea of having a secret with Maerad. One more thread that bound them together.

"I won't even tell Lyla."

Crestor smiled rakishly. "They say that the great victories we won in the north have brought a bounty of slaves. Men and women and children coming south to work at the plantations will be here in a week's time, perhaps a little more."

Maerad managed to keep the smile on her face, but felt her insides go cold. _Bards from Lirigon, _she thought miserably. _Bards for Sharma and his Hulls to torment._

"Father is quite happy about the whole thing. He wonders if he'll be able to buy some. It's difficult, you know, getting more slaves on your own. You can buy them, obviously, but that costs money, and breeding is even harder."

His words didn't even register with Maerad, who was thinking of Innail and Silvia and Malgorn and Indik and the rest of the people who had first introduced her to Barding. _Sharma knows, he knows what they mean to me, and he'll do something horrible to them. And Malgorn…Malgorn is First Bard. _

"… not sure it's worth it, though. New slaves are like wild horses, you have to break them in. When you buy a slave, one that comes from a line of other slaves, they know the score. They don't struggle against you, they just do as they're told. These folk from the north will have some will about them and we'll have to break it."

Maerad was jarred back into the present, Crestor's words turning her blood cold. _Bards are like wild horses that need to be broken in? _She clenched her fists against her better judgement. "My lord, I've taken a chill. Perhaps we can go back inside?"

Crestor, though, took the opportunity to draw closer. "But the night is so clear! Here, have my cloak instead." He removed his cloak with a flourish and draped it over Maerad's shoulders. She was so much shorter than Crestor that it pooled on the ground, dragging over the dirt. A flash of annoyance passed over Maerad at Crestor's complete disregard for her desires. "That will keep you warm even in the cold nights in the north, I guarantee it. And I think the color suits you quite nicely."

"Thank you, my lord," Maerad said through her teeth, gathering the cloak around her to cover her body. Beneath it, she clutched her hands together so tightly they hurt. "You're far too generous."

"I am selfish is all," he laughed. "I much prefer seeing you smile."

It was an order, Maerad knew, a veiled order, but an order all the same. Maerad obliged, casting him a wane smile that seemed to satisfy him regardless. "My smiles may be hard to come by," she warned.

"Then I shall have to do my best to chase them," Crestor said, and paused, watching his father turn a corner with Lyla. He caught Maerad by the shoulder and spun her to face him. She was so caught up in her thoughts of Innail, that she started when Crestor turned her about. "

"Yes, my lord?" Maerad asked evenly. She noticed nervously that Lyla was out of sight, and ungracious yelling would be the only way to draw her back. She was very much alone with this young man who thought he owned her evening. Under her cloak, Maerad felt warmth spread in her hands, White Fire, licking up her fingers.

"I mean only to catch you," he said in a playful voice.

"It's not so easy to catch the likes of this little lark, because she has a hawk for a mother," Maerad warned, rather pleased at the veiled threat.

Crestor was intrigued and drew her closer to him so Maerad was in the circle of his arms. She leaned back, debating whether or not to mind touch Lyla. "Ah, but I'm a master hawker."

"Is that right?" Maerad asked weakly and his hands pressed against the small of her back possessively. It didn't feel at all like Cadvan's hands had the night before he left, it didn't spread warmth through her body and make her shiver with desire, it just felt like the men in Gilman's Cot, grabbing at her during a riot.

"Indeed, it is." He held her firmly and Maerad couldn't turn. His eyes roved over her face, her neck, the swell of her breasts. "Where's your smile?"

Maerad threw caution to the wind. _Lyla! _she cried, reaching out for the other woman.

"Come now, little lark, a smile for an admirer?" His face was closer and Maerad could smell the liquor on his breath. She trembled at the look in his eyes when he bent his head to kiss her.

Maerad wondered what consequences might await her if she attacked Crestor with White Fire. She supposed Mama Lena would whip her and then tell Sharma, who would punish her brother. She wondered if Sharma might go as far as to hurt Cadvan upon his return. Still…the thought of kissing Crestor, of allowing him to touch her at all, left her reeling. "It's not right," Maerad hedged turning her face so he kissed her cheek. "It's not proper." She tried to pull away but he tugged back and then placed a kiss on her exposed neck.

_By the Light, Lyla, come back! _Maerad cried out again.

"What's proper to you?" Crestor asked, a hint of a sneer in his voice. "You're barely a mistress of this house, and I've heard about women in the north."

"Stop!" Maerad ordered, pressing her hands against his chest, but his grip tightened and he pulled her forward so she stumbled into him. She could feel the heat radiating off his body. "You don't know_ anything _about me."

He laughed and finally captured her mouth in a kiss. It was horrid. Maerad felt his lips move against hers, forcing her mouth open and his tongue in. His teeth grazed her lips and she thought he would draw blood. One of his hands moved up into her hair and he twisted his hand around it, holding her in place, while the other drifted down and she felt it on her hip, then her rear, then lower still like he was trying to force her legs apart. She whined against him, which only seemed to excite him more, as Crestor attacked her mouth with more vigorous kissing.

When he broke apart to draw breath, he said, "I know you enjoyed that," he said, the hand on her legs inching to the front and grazing her thigh. "And I know for the right coin, there's more to it."

"No," Maerad hissed, feeling his fingers brushing the inside of her thigh and panic taking complete hold of her. "You've no right to go grabbing at me-"

"No right?" he laughed loudly. "I've all the right in the world! I'm the son of a Grin and you're in training to be a whore."

Maerad snarled, trying vainly to pull free. "I'm not a whore!" she spat and curled her hand into a fist like Indik had taught her. When her punch landed, he staggered a bit, surprised by the ferocity of the blow.

His dark eyes gleamed. "Maybe not a lark, but a little kitten with claws."

Maerad took a step back, spitting, "You've no idea who I am. Son of Grin? Who cares? My blood runs as far back as the Elementals, as the wild spirits that used to rule this land. You think a Grin impresses me? You think your father's wealth stuns me? I have seen things you wouldn't believe. I _am _things you couldn't imagine."

Perhaps her words stymied him because Crestor stared at her blankly for a moment. He felt the prickling in the air again and wondered what dark magic she was working, but when she neither attacked him nor ran, he felt his smug, drunken confidence return. "Are you? Because for all your clever threats I see only woman."

Maerad lifted her hands, ready to curse the insolent boy, but at that moment, Lyla turned to the corner. Maerad whipped around to face her, and though she was laughing at some jest of Jarl's, her eyes were sharp and dark, and they flicked between Maerad and Crestor, seeing everything but saying nothing. She floated forward imperiously, arm out for Maerad.

"I was wondering where we'd lost you two," she said, taking Maerad's arm and linking it through hers. She patted her hand, then jumped in surprise. "Why, Maerad, you're so cold!"

Maerad blinked once, confused, but a meaningful look from Lyla spurred her on. "I've been foolish. I always forget, for all my northern blood, the nights in the desert can be quite cold."

"Jarl, the poor girl needs the fire at once." Lyla drew Maerad against her tenderly. "And if that doesn't do her good, perhaps a warm bath and bed."

"A bath at the very least," Crestor said, watching Lyla rub Maerad's shoulders. Her pale face was turned to Lyla, and Crestor sensed growing tension between the two women. "Look at her, she's white as a ghost!"

Though Maerad wanted to scream, Lyla turned her so Crestor could present his arm and take her firmly in his grip. Maerad managed to gather herself so the anger that was pulsating through her was only visible in her heavily lidded eyes, and she allowed herself to be led back to the house, her gaze fixed on her feet. Jarl walked behind them with Lyla, and though the man didn't seem to notice anything wrong, Lyla did and kept close pace with them. Inside, Lyla suggested that Maerad play them some music and Crestor made a great show of arranging pillows before the fire so that Maerad could sit in its warm glow.

Despite her anger, when Maerad struck the first cords and began to sing, it was beautiful. _You're Maerad of Pellinor, Daughter of the First Circle, Singer of the Gift, _she told herself firmly, eyeing Crestor darkly. _You were born to fight the Nameless One, and the Nameless One alone will stop your signing, not some pompous, jumped up boy. _Her hands moved smoothly over the strings, a proud flag flying, announcing to Crestor and Jarl and even Lyla that she wouldn't allow herself to be made small by small men.

After her third song, Lyla applauded and stood. "You see, Jarl, why I cannot bear to share a stage with Maerad? She would utterly eclipse me. But I see too that she is still pale as the moon and shaking like a leaf. Perhaps a warm bath will ease you?"

Maerad carefully set the lyre aside and looked up at Lyla. "I would not want to ruin our evening."

"You're not ruining it at all," announced Jarl. "I could think of no better way to bid two lovely ladies goodnight than to the sound of your voice."

Crestor stood too, looking a fair bit put out by his father's pronouncement. "I will certainly sleep easy with the sound of your voice in my dreams."

Maerad was proud of herself when she managed a smile for him and bowed her head. "Sleep well, my lord."

Jarl led his son to the door, the women following closely. "We will call again soon. I will have business in town later this week when the stock from the north return, and I'll bring Crestor. Perhaps we should not dally too much outside. We can't have our little lark sick with a cold!"

Maerad smarted at his dismissal, but held out the cloak to Crestor. "You will want this, my lord. This lark has a warm nest to bed down tonight."

Crestor held up his hand, smirking at her. "Keep it, and think of me when you find yourself cold and in need of something warm."

Though she would have liked to be rid of it, Lyla bowed deeply. "You do Maerad a great kindness, my lord. She will not forget it."

"No," agreed Maerad, folding the cloak carefully and draping it over her arm. "I will not."

Jarl kissed Lyla on the cheek before bidding her goodnight, and Crestor planted a delicate kiss on Maerad's knuckles. She wanted to wash her hands. The women waited in the door of the house until the men had settled in their carriage and vanished into the night outside the gates. As soon as they were gone Lyla draw the door closed with a sharp snap, and took Maerad by the shoulders. She searched her face, her brown eyes wide and bright.

"Was that you calling to me?" she demanded, her voice low and angry. "Was that some dark magic of yours?"

Maerad blinked. "You heard?"

"_Heard_?" Lyla hissed. "You might as well have been screaming in my ear! By the gods, what happened?"

Maerad spun about, stomping up the stairs to escape her, but Lyla was on her heels. "Crestor is a foul man!"

"He gave you his cloak!" Lyla returned as Maerad headed down the hall. "He applauded your music and laughed at your jokes. He spoke to you like a gentleman."

Maerad threw open to the door to her room and flew through the door in a storm of blue, swirling fabric. She began tearing at her lovely braided hair, the lovely blue flower Lyla had given her. "He kissed me! I told him no, and he kissed me still!" Maerad fumed.

Lyla closed the door carefully behind her, aware that others might be listening, but loathe to be along with a witch. "Is that all?"

Maerad whipped about, face set in a grim line. "You said nothing would happen. Words and glances, you said! He was just assessing my value."

"Well, it's not always polite, but a kiss here and there is expected," Lyla shrugged. "Even Jarl took a few liberties."

"He called me a whore!" Maerad slammed her hand on the small desk and upset the mirror. It fell to the floor and shattered. "You said I wasn't a whore. You said I was a proper mistress."

Lyla's face darkened. "That wasn't very nice of him, but he is a Grin's son-"

"Oh, who cares?" Maerad raged. "A Grin's son? What is a Grin's son to me? What is a Grin's son to the daughter of Milana of Pellinor? To the daughter of Ardina?" Lyla frowned, and though she was unfamiliar with either name, she sensed a certain trepidation in Maerad's voice. These were important people. "His line is but a stripling beside an old oak. I won't have his hands all over me. I won't have him besmirch my name!"

Lyla pursed her lips and bent to gather the pieces of the broken mirror. "It was not right of him to have improper familiarities with you, but for all your names and blood, you must remember who you are. You're a woman who was bought by a man, a woman who works for Mama Lena."

Maerad said icily, "I will show you who _I_ am."

Lyla swallowed, taking a step back. Maerad darted forward and she snatched up the pieces of broken mirror. For a moment, Lyla thought Maerad might attack her with them or throw them at her, but the other girl merely held them in her cupped hands. She watched, transfixed, as Maerad stared at the jagged shards of glass, and was shocked to see that her hands began to glow. Lyla blinked, sure it was a trick of the eye, but no, first Maerad's hands glowed, then her wrists and arms, then the skin at her chest and throat and even her face. It was a pale, silver light, like the moon on a full night. Lyle was so busy staring at Maerad she almost missed the moment when the pieces of mirror flashed like spitting candle and then fused back together.

Lyla stared at the mirror searching for words while Maerad contemplated her own reflection. After a moment, having seen something that obviously pleased her, Maerad held the mirror out to Lyla. "This is who I am. Who are you?"

Lyla saw only her pale, scared reflection staring back.

* * *

"It's like a farewell," said Saliman, more to himself than the Bards riding near him. "This ride to Innail. I am saying goodbye to every tree, every waystone, every trail I ever rode by but never explored. This place will never exist again."

Vaclal, who had emerged from his reverie, glanced up at Saliman. "Is the long goodbye harder than the short?" he wondered.

Saliman thought about the siege of Turbansk and the days and nights he had toiled pointlessly against the Dark. Then, too, he had known that the battle was futile: their fighting served only to let the innocent men and women and children escape the city. This time, there weren't even lives to save.

"I'm not sure time really helps," said Hekibel softly from her seat before Saliman. Since they had left Lirigon, Hekibel had ridden with Saliman and made no complaint about it. She preferred being in his company, knowing that she was safe within the circle of his arms and took comfort in his warmth and the vibrations of his deep voice. "Some hurts go too deep for time to make sense of them."

Vaclal stared shrewdly at the woman before looking back up to Saliman with a rueful smile. "All farewells are painful, it's just that I wish I never had to make this one."

Saliman leaned forward to kiss the crown of Hekibel's head. "You are wise, my dear. I think I shall have to keep you as my conscious from now on, least I fall prey to my own self-indulgent, dark thoughts."

Hekibel leaned back against his chest. "There will be a time for mourning, but I don't know that the road to war is it. Rest assured, when all is over and done, I will allow you all your pain and sadness." Hekibel's eyes darted to the figure of Cadvan, who was brooding in the saddle. "Other Bards might take my wisdom as well."

"You must forgive my people," Saliman said gently. "We are more keenly aware of the beauty in the world, and it hurts us deeper when it is destroyed. His home was destroyed."

"As was yours," Hekibel said not unkindly. "I fear that he is going mad."

"Cadvan is not going mad, he's just…" Saliman considered his friend. "He's sad. There is a sadness deep in his soul that few things will cure."

It was true that in the week since they had left Lirigon, Cadvan had been withdrawn, almost wraithlike. He rode with his hood up and his head bowed, even when there were no early spring rains. He would occasionally try to compose a ballad for the fall of the Lirigon, but not long after he plucked at the strings of his lyre would he drag his hands over the notes and stash the instrument roughly away. He ate little and spoke but a few words, his eyes were dark and desolate, his face set in a grim line.

"I think, perhaps, he will be a little better with Maerad. Though I don't pretend that this battle with Innail will go easy for him. He has good friends here, and after Lirigon, I think this place was like a home for him."

Hekibel watched Cadvan covertly. "It unsettles me to be around him. I feel like something is wrong in the air."

Saliman was impressed with Hekibel's keen sense and wondered not for the first time if she had a bit of the Gift. The unease she felt in Cadvan's presence was tenfold for Saliman, almost like a chill that reached into his bones. Saliman pitied him for it. "It is nothing to be afraid of, just a manifestation of his sorrow."

"Are all Bards like that?" Hekibel wondered, looking back at him.

"Only very powerful ones," Saliman said evasively. "We wear our Gifts like a cloak, and a foul wind can rustle it."

Hekibel chose to sequester that information away for later. "Will he get better?"

"With the right muse," said Saliman with the flicker of a smile.

Cadvan heard all of this, but he didn't comment, he didn't think he could. Since leaving Lirigon, he had been trying with little success to write the song for his fallen city, and it had put him in foul mood. Likud found his struggle amusing, often checking up on him throughout the day and asking how he did. He enjoyed riding alongside Cadvan, wondering loudly how long the siege might last, asking Cadvan if he missed his friends in Innail and would be glad to see them, suggesting Cadvan might even be happy for a swift, decisive victory because it brought him back to Dagra and Maerad sooner.

This last point drew Cadvan up sharply because he did miss Maerad fiercely, missed her more and more since the fall of Lirigon. Every night before he fell asleep, Cadvan pictured Maerad, sometimes seated before the fire in her pale, transparent shift with freshly washed hair dripping down her back in black rivers, other times curled up on a chair, watching him with her sharp, thoughtful gaze, still other times, curled up in bed in a beam of moonlight. It was these images that Cadvan kept in his mind as he rode to destroy Innail, these dreams he would fall back on when he saw the Black Army commit their atrocities, and her face he would picture when Likud tormented him.

_Soon this will be over. For better or worse, I will soon turn my helm homeward to you. _Cadvan glanced up, surprised to find they were in the shadow of the mountains, and he knew they were now mere days from Innail. _I hope to the Light you forgive me for betraying the things you love, Maerad, but I do them all so I might see you again. _

That night they made camp between the Weywood at the entrance to the valley of Innail, nestled right against the Osidh Elanor. From here it would take the entire Black Army two days at most to reach the gates of Innail, sooner if the slave drivers took a whip to the slaves. Cadvan eyed the mountains unkindly, thinking of Innail and Malgorn and Silvia and wishing they had fled when they had the chance. Beside him, Saliman and Hekibel were digging a pit to light a fire, and Saliman looked up at his friend.

"You have a look on your face that could frighten a wer. What are you thinking of, Cadvan?"

At first, it seemed Cadvan was took deep in his own dark reverie to respond, but after a moment, he turned to face Saliman. "I am thinking that very soon everything I love will be gone."

Saliman scowled. "Not everything, Cadvan. Maerad lives yet and you will be reunited soon."

"I don't think she will thank me for destroying the place she calls home."

"You said," Saliman reminded him, a serious look on his face, "that she promised to forgive you. When you gave your Name to save her she swore that she would forgive you anything because of her love for you. I think even this she will forgive."

Cadvan fixed Saliman with a thoughtful look before breaking into a sudden, crooked smile. "You have known me too well and too long, Saliman. Perhaps I will not thank _myself_ for destroying something I love."

"I expected as much," said Saliman knowingly. "But here you have no choice."

Though Cadvan would have preferred words of comfort, he knew Saliman was right. There were no choices now to assuage his guilt and wishing there were would only lead him to pain. With a flash of a rascally smile, Cadvan said, "Then I will do as you recommend and be glad of it. Think only of what I have waiting for me in Dagra, not what I must face in Innail."

Saliman glanced sideways to where Hekibel was now washing her face and smiled sheepishly. "I sleep better for it."

Hekibel sensed both pairs of eyes on her and cast a wry look at the men. "It's impolite to stare."

"My lady, I do not stare, I merely admire from afar," Saliman said with a playful bow. "If I look on too long it is only because you have ensnared me."

"Careful little rabbit," warned Hekibel, joining them. She shifted a little under Cadvan's intense gaze and tried to ignore the sensation she was being read like a book. "My snares are treacherous."

"I think I knew this," Saliman said lightly. "I am a most willing rabbit in that regard."

Cadvan chuckled suddenly, making Hekibel jump a little. "Your huntress will go out of practice with you as the prey."

"Are you calling me bad sport?" Saliman asked with false outrage.

"That's what I heard." Likud had appeared from the shadows around their camp, his pale face split in a jagged grin. His eyes moved from Cadvan to Saliman then to Hekibel who stood between them. "Why do you run along like a good girl and help Iris with dinner? I'm sure these men folk are hungry."

Hekibel's face colored instantly at the dismissal. "I'm not a _good girl_."

"You'd better hope you are, or I'll have to make you one," Likud replied primely. His eyes moved to Saliman and he raised an eyebrow. "You can't possibly want her here, Saliman. Come now, send your woman away."

Saliman's glower was impressive, but his voice was even. "Hekibel, I think it best if you go help Iris. This will be nothing but talk of war."

She pressed her lips together in a tight line. "If you think that's best."

"Yes, run along and play with the others," Likud said flippantly, waving her off. "The adults are speaking."

Saliman took her but the hand before she lunged at the Hull. He rubbed the delicate skin of her inner wrist with his thumb. "Just go. I'll see you tonight and we can speak more then."

Likud watched Saliman's handling of Hekibel with keen interest. "That's impressive."

"What do you want?" Cadvan asked as Hekibel went to find Iris.

"We'll be in Innail soon, so I think now is the time to discuss how we will move forward." Likud led them to the small circle of fire that Vaclal and Finlan shared. When he saw the Hull approaching, Finlan paled because he didn't think he could stand another round of summoning the Hull would request. "Upon our arrival, we will have to move quick if we wish to capture the city and its inhabitants."

Vaclal eyed Likud darkly. "Shall we assume that Innail will go the way of Lirigon, or will you spare the city?"

Likud smiled sadly. "I'm afraid this city, too, must be put to the sword. There is a story that must be written, a lesson told in the history of our conquest. Maerad of Pellinor came into her own in Innail just as Cadvan's Gift bloomed in Lirigon and Cai and Saliman were of Turbansk. Our master commands their destruction."

Cadvan lowered his eyes when Vaclal glanced at him and the First Bard said, "Do not lay the blame for our School's destruction at the feed of good men and women."

"Good men and women whose behavior was such an affront to our master that he had everything they loved destroyed," said Likud glibly. "But we can debate that another day. For now, we will discuss what you four will do once the siege begins."

"You will batter the walls down and round up the Bards?" Vaclal said harshly.

"We will need the First Circle and as it so happens, two of you are quite good friends with them, aren't you?" Likud's red eyes moved to Saliman and Cadvan, sparkling with malevolent pleasure. "We have it on quite good word that the First circle is composed of four Bards: Indik, Kelia, Silvia, who is the wife of the First Bard, Malgorn. We will need all four alive, and as it happens, there are four of you."

Vaclal didn't seem surprised by the accuracy of the information Likud had. "It'll be difficult," was all he said.

"Not nearly. Cadvan here is on _very _good terms with Malgorn and Silvia, Saliman almost as close. So, as soon as the gates to the city are breached, you will all enter and locate a member of the First Circle." Likud paused, looking between Cadvan and Vaclal. "Cadvan, you will locate Malgorn and subdue him, Saliman you will find the woman, Silvia."

Vaclal noticed the sharp spasm of pain that crossed Cadvan's eyes and guessed at once that Cadvan and Malgorn were good friends. "You ought to send a First Bard after another First Bard," he said reasonably. "While I have no doubt that Cadvan is a capable warrior, I am a true match for Malgorn."

"Hardly. I suspect Cadvan is more than capable, besides, Malgorn and Cadvan are old friends. He won't suspect betrayal." Likud grinned and Cadvan blushed. "I always said you were a filthy, little traitor. It's your blood, commoner's blood."

Vaclal seemed ready to protest, but Finlan cut him off. "And you would send us to find the rest of the First Circle?"

"You might as well locate Kelia, you'll be far too weak to manage Indik." Likud's gaze flicked up and down Finlan. "Especially, after the four of you summon me another wight."

Finlan cringed. "You don't need one. You have more than enough soldiers."

"I w_ant _one," Likud replied with relish, "and you're going to summon it. Maybe even more."

"This is dangerous," Saliman said seriously. "The more of these creatures you pull through to this realm the more tenuous the barriers become."

"Your job, Saliman once of Turbansk, is to do as I say, not advise me. Or, would you prefer I go find that lovely young woman of yours and she and I can determine what your role is?" Likud held Saliman's gaze long enough for the Bard to look away. "Tomorrow, you four will summon a wight, the day after, we will be at Innail. Have you any questions as to your orders?"

Cadvan looked outright mutinous. The idea that he was going to have to find Malgorn and betray him to his capture left a foul taste in his mouth. He stared daggers at Likud, but suddenly felt the ominous pressure of the Nameless One in his thoughts.

_Do not blame Likud for this, Cadvan. I told you, didn't I, that you were a uniquely Gifted Bard? I told you I could use someone like you_.

Cadvan chose not to reply but dropped his gaze. _It's not worth it right now to fight. Choose your battles, well, your battleground at least._ Cadvan's thoughts turned back to Maerad in Dagra and the knowledge that here, at least, he couldn't defend her if he wanted. _This is the price you agreed to pay. Perhaps, when all is said and done, Malgorn will forgive you._

"Where do we bring the First Circle when we find them?" Cadvan asked hollowly.

Likud studied him, only vaguely disappointed that he hadn't put up any struggle. "The Singing Hall. I'll be waiting."


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter Twenty-Three

So many birds streamed into the city that they blotted out the sun. They were coming with the latest news of the Black Army: it's size, speed, the war machines it employed, the dark shapes that moved alongside it like orbiting black holes. Silvia shivered at the ominous premonition and waited until one raven dropped from the air and landed at the table in the garden to share its tidings. She hurried back indoors, leaving the raven with bread cold meat. She took the stairs two at a time, heading for Malgorn's study where Kelia and Indik were gathered. When she entered, they looked up, faces grim and eyes hard; they didn't appear remotely surprised by her news.

"Lord Kargan says the army is still a day out, but they are driving the infantry fast and will be here as soon as the sun is up. He says there are thousands of men, dogsoldiers, wers, dark creatures that move in the shadows of the army, and machines that grind the ground underfoot. Hulls naturally travel with the army, at the lead of each of contingent, perhaps no more than a hundred in total." She looked from haggard face to face and came at last to her husband. "There are no Bards with them. He doesn't know what happened to the Bards of Lirigon."

"I think we can guess," Indik said gruffly. "Dead or slaves. It doesn't matter, Lirigon is not coming to our aid."

Kelia stood with no preamble and poured herself a large cup of wine. She looked at the Bards before her with a bitter smile and poured three more. "Clever of them to strike north first. Where are we to run now? The south is swarming with minions of the Dark, the west has devolved into civil war with that idiot Enkir and the east…what to the east but waste?"

Malgorn sipped his wine. "We could still try to send our people east in the mountains. The journey would be difficult but they could go north…"

"North to where?" Silvia said in a hollow voice. "North to the Pilanel? It is only a matter of time until the Nameless One reaches out his hand for the northern tribes. To the west, to Thorold and Busk? They will not be spared this time. Besides, the people who stayed wanted to fight."

"Well, they're going to get a fight." Indik stood and walked to the window. He was staring out of the city into the forests beyond, almost as if he were trying to see the Black Army that was even now devouring up the land in its way. "They say it took three days to conquer Lirigon. _Three days. _Lirigon had an infantry, Lirigon had more men and women, Lirigon hadn't just won a battle against the Landrost that cost it lives and depleted its stores."

Malgorn eyed Indik unkindly. He didn't want reminding of the bitter reality facing them. "How many do we have?"

Indik didn't turn back from the window. "Soldiers? A couple thousand. Bards? Maybe a few hundred. We haven't the power necessary to rout the Black Army, though. We were going to put up a fight, buy Lirigon time to prepare defenses. Now what's the point?"

"The point?" Silvia hissed. "The _point_ is that the Dark is knocking on our door and we must answer! Do we cower and beg for mercy, or do we fight?" Silvia was thinking of Hekibel sent off to Lirigon for protection. She wondered if the woman had lived or if she had been butchered in the sacking of Lirigon, and a furious rage overcame her. Hekibel shouldhave _lived_ to see Saliman again, she deserved to see the man she had loved. "The Nameless One himself might be at our gates in a day and I have no intention of bowing my head to him."

"_Does_ the Nameless One travel at the head of his army?" Kelia asked sharply. "If he does, then it matters not what we do."

"Lord Kargan says he did not see a creature that resembled the Nameless. He did not feel a presence as Dark as that." Silvia wished fiercely now that Maerad was with them. Though she didn't relish the thought of using Maerad in battle, the young girl was the only person who stood the slightest chance of defeating him. "Even so, though, there will be Hulls and creatures of the Dark plenty enough to battle."

"I wonder where he is," mused Indik softly. "I mean, either he has regained his power-"

"Don't say that," Silvia said sharply. If the Nameless One had regained his strength, then Maerad was surely dead.

"Either he has or he hasn't," Indik continued. "But some ill will gives this army strength, something broke the gates of Lirigon and battered the walls to dust. If he has returned, why is he not at the head of his army? If he is still weak and noncorporal, why does he march now?"

Malgorn sighed. "Perhaps his eye is elsewhere in Annar and the seven kingdoms?"

"He does not even watch the battle of his own army?" Kelia said. "He has so little interest in the outcome of the war?"

"Perhaps he doesn't care because he already knows," Malgorn said darkly. "Why bother watching the defeat of Innail if you know it will happen."

His statement was met with silence and everyone took long draws on their wine. Indik finally turned away from the window and gave himself a little shake. "Defeat was always certain, so why be so damned depressed about it now? The gate has been repaired and reinforced, the men and women have been armed, the Bards know where they belong tomorrow. We will give the Dark Army the battle they came for."

Malgorn managed a fleeting smile. "It might take everything we have, but it will cost them dearly for challenging us. I think it best we set our affairs in order and regroup tonight at midnight. If the army will be here by dawn, we need to solidify our plans of attack with the captains."

"I'll send word to them," Indik agreed. "They can meet us in the watch room just beside the gate."

Malgorn looked once around the room and raised his glass to the Bards there. "You probably don't need to hear this, but I couldn't have wished for a better First Circle. You were all brilliant, all true, all Bards of the highest quality until the very end. I've never met a group of people more true to the Light than you."

Indik smiled sardonically, but there was a light in his eyes that betrayed his expression. "You were an excellent First Bard, and I'm sorry we won't live to see Innail flourish under your guidance."

"A fine First Bard," Kelia agreed solemnly. "A fine man."

Silvia said nothing, but Malgorn knew her heart all too well. The First Circle rose then and each bowed regally to Malgorn as they left, until only Silvia and Malgorn remained. Silvia closed the door gently and crossed the room to Malgorn. He watched her with a sad expression, admiring the way the fading sunlight struck her face and made her eyes glow and her hair burn with red radiance. She came to his side then sank smoothly to her knees, taking his hand and kissing each knuckle, his inner wrist, and then pulled his face down to kiss his lips. She pulled back, her hands on his thigh and rested her cheek there. Malgorn placed his hand on the crown of her head, running his fingers through her red hair thoughtfully.

"I suppose this is our last night, my love."

"Don't say that." She didn't correct him, however.

"I have loved you since the day I saw you," Malgorn continued. "I would not have preferred any other way to spend my last days on this earth, but I swear that if you and I could, I would have run away with you when this shadow first crossed our path. I would have taken you far in the wilds and built you a home away from the Dark. I would have forsaken everything to have more time with you."

"You wouldn't be the man I love if you didn't stand against the Dark, though," said Silvia, looking up at him. "You are the man I love because you are not afraid of the Dark. Because you are here with me now."

"I'll be wherever you are," Malgorn said seriously. "No matter what happens, Silvia, when the Dark comes, I will be at your side."

Silvia had a sudden memory of the nightmare of the fall of Innail and shuddered. "There is something I didn't mention…something the ravens told me. Lord Kargan said that the First Circle of Lirigon was taken captive."

Malgorn stopped brushing her hair a moment and studied her face closely. "He is certain of what he saw?"

"When Lirigon was defeated, the Bards were taken to the School, but the First Circle was kept apart and they were sent with the captives south, but the First Bard was missing."

Malgorn closed his eyes slowly. "I do not wish to see you a thrall of the Nameless One."

Silvia searched his face. "I do not know what will happen to us in Dagra, but if there is any chance, Malgorn, that I might be able to save you-"

"No!" he sat upright, and took Silvia's chin in his grasp, forcing her to look up at him. "No. You will give the Nameless One nothing for me. Whatever happens once this battle is over, you will not surrender yourself to him in exchange for me."

Silvia jerked herself free of his grasp. "What would you have of me then? Shall I watch as the man I love is tortured and killed? Would you have me weep over your body? Would you force me to face the Dark alone?"

Malgorn turned away, pale in the face. "You won't be alone."

"Oh? Who will stand beside me? Who else has a right but you?" Silvia dug her nails into Malgorn's leg. "Do not ask me to forsake you, because you know that I won't. If I can spare you the torments of the Nameless One, I swear on the Light that I will."

"Silvia!" Malgorn cried.

"You and I know the stories of those who were taken to Dagra," she continued. "You know the tales of the Andomian and Berludh, Queen Recabarra, King Laurelin and how they died at his hands. I will not allow that."

Malgorn saw the hardness in Silvia's eyes, the defiant tilt to her chin and knew that nothing he said would stop her. "I could not bear to see you suffer."

"Why would you ask me to do the same for you?"

Malgorn drew Silvia's face to his and kissed her passionately. "I love you, Silvia, but I fear what will become of us. I fear that I will not withstand the Darkness."

"I do not expect you to defeat the Nameless One, my love, and I will be with you when the Darkness comes." She stood suddenly, watching the sinking sun outside the window. She felt her heart flutter uncertainly. "There is no time left for fear, no time left for regret. But before we meet this Dark I would bask in the Light one last time. I want to go into battle with the memory of your lips on my lips and your body joined with mine."

Malgorn smiled then, his fear of the Dark and the Nameless One and his fate pushed back. He stood, joining Silvia at the window and shifted her hair so her neck was exposed to him. He kissed the pale, warm skin there and snaked his arms about her waist. She turned into him and pressed herself against him.

"Love me," she whispered against his lips.

They left the office, still holding each other, still kissing each other; the house was empty, no one would see them. They fell into their bedroom, Silvia tugging at shift Malgorn wore, Malgorn pulling her dress free. They tumbled back onto the bed, Malgorn landing below Silvia so she sat upon his hips and ran her hands and mouth over his body, then they rolled over, the blankets wrapping around them and made love in the dying light of their last day.

* * *

"Tomorrow morning we will attack the city and I want you to stay here." Saliman was lying on his back, his cloak spread out beneath him and Hekibel. Idly, he twirled a strand of her long blond hair around a finger and thought how much like burnished gold it looked.

Against his side, Hekibel stiffened. "You want me to stay back here? With the Hulls and the soldiers?"

"I'm not taking you into battle with me," Saliman said firmly.

"But I can help." Hekibel sat up, frowning down on Saliman. "I can handle myself, besides it's not like the soldiers will attack me."

Saliman turned away. "Hekibel, you've no place in the blood and fray. I want you to stay up here and keep Iris company."

"I'm not a child," Hekibel said flatly.

"I didn't call you one-"

"You're treating me like one," she flared. "I'm a grown woman and I can look after myself. I want to help you."

Saliman sighed, sitting up and running a hand through his hair. "You can't help me, not with the work I must do."

"And what is that?" Now Hekibel lad lost her temper. "You won't tell me what it is you must do, only that I'm not allowed to be there when it's done. You say I must stay behind, but I _was _in battle! I was in Lirigon when the Black Army attacked and-"

"And look where that got you!" Saliman returned smartly. "You were hiding under a desk with a piece of glass to defend yourself. What if I hadn't come when I did? What if some soldier of the Dark had been there instead of me? You would have died!"

Hekibel looked away, stung. "I'll take care of myself."

"You'll take care of nothing," Saliman warned in a low voice. "You're going to stay here until the battle is over. I won't argue with you about this."

"It's not your say."

Saliman's eyes flamed suddenly. "Oh, yes it is." He stuck out his arm so that in the pale moonlight the Sick Moon glowed. "Hekibel, I gave the Nameless One _everything _in exchange for your safety. I promised him my service, I gave him my Name, I made myself his slave because he told me he would give me you. I've every right to tell you what to do."

Hekibel stared at the brand hatefully. "I'm not a piece of property."

Saliman looked away, flustered. He rubbed his face tiredly. "I don't think you are, but by his own order, you are mine to command. I swear on the Light, Hekibel, that if I must, I will tie you to a spike and drive it into the ground."

For a moment, Hekibel studied the profile of Saliman's face. She saw the straight line of his set jaw and knew he wasn't playing with her: if he had to, he would force her to stay. She shivered, knowing he was right, but hating it all the same. The truth was that she wanted to be the first to find Silvia, to protect her from whatever the Black Army would send after her. She glanced down resentfully.

"Saliman, please, Silvia was kind to me and if I can find her before the Dark does, she might be able to escape."

At this, Saliman laughed bitterly. "The Dark will not hunt Silvia down, have no fear."

"And how do you know?" Hekibel asked. "They found the First Circle of Lirigon, didn't they? And what will happen to her if the Hulls take her?"

"The Hulls won't," Saliman said with rigid certainty. "The Hulls aren't foolish enough to try and capture her. Silvia is a Gifted Bard, she knows her way around a blade. She'll be hard enough to subdue on her own."

Hekibel took Saliman's face in her hands and turned him to look at her. "How do you know this?"

Saliman grimaced, unable to hold her gaze. "Because _I_ was charged with finding Silvia."

Hekibel's eyes widened. "You?"

"A nice little surprise from the Nameless One himself. Silvia is my friend and she will trust me when she seems me. A cruel trick, but efficient nonetheless."

Hekibel released him, her hand falling numbly to her side. "I'm so sorry."

"As am I, but this is why I want you away from the battle. There's nothing to be gained by riding into war, but everything to lose. I want you to stay here where it's safe."

"Will I be safe here?" she asked uncertainly. "I will be in the care of Hulls."

Saliman nodded plaintively. "It will not be pleasant, but you will not be harmed. The servants of the Nameless One know the bargain I made."

Hekibel drew her knees up to rest her chin on them. She wondered, not for the first time, how Saliman had made such a sacrifice. He had barely known her but had still given up everything to guarantee her safety. She didn't know if she was worth the price he had paid. She wanted to be, though.

"How long will it be? Can I help you from here at least?"

Saliman leaned back, settling his weight on his hands. "Lirigon was three days, and they had an army of their own. Innail has nothing but a few hundred men and Bards, and they're only just defeated the Landrost. Of course, the Black Army seems almost halved now since soldiers had to escort the prisoners back to Dagra, but I suspect it will only be a few days if that. Malgorn isn't going to let the city and all the innocent people burn."

"Will he have a choice?" Hekibel wondered, thinking back to Lirigon burning around her.

"Malgorn is no fool," Saliman said slowly. "He will recognize early that the battle is against them. If he can, I think he will find a way to convey surrender." Saliman bowed his head. He didn't relish the thought of his friends in the power of the Dark. "If Likud will accept, I do not know."

"And you will find him."

"No, I will find Silvia and see her to Likud, Cadvan will have to track Malgorn down." Saliman spared a glace for Cadvan who was sleeping nearby.

"Could Malgorn defeat him in battle?" Hekibel asked. "Cadvan, I mean."

"No." Saliman admired Malgorn, counted him among the best Bards in Annar, but he didn't think for a moment that Malgorn was match for Cadvan. "Besides, Malgorn will think Cadvan has come to aid them."

"I am sorry for your friends, I'm sorry for your people." Hekibel worried her lip. "When we go back to Dagra, what happens then?"

Saliman glanced at her sharply. "_Nothing_ will happen to you, Hekibel. I don't know what the Nameless One plans for me next, but I'll see to it you're well cared for. Maerad stays in Cadvan's rooms, and though I imagine it feels like something of a prison, it is by far the safest place."

Hekibel frowned. "But what will I…_do_?"

Saliman sighed. "I don't know. I don't even know that the Nameless One knows what to do next. But I swear that I won't let anyone hurt you once we're there."

"I suppose it's not that I have a choice," Hekibel laughed in hard voice. She tried to smile but it felt tight and misshapen on her face. "I feel like I'm running through a ravine and I can't turn around. It's like every moment of my life has been leading to now and I'm terrified of what's coming, but I can't stop running."

Saliman was staring at her, his face inexplicably sad. "I am sorry if I have brought you to this."

"I don't think you did," she said contemplatively, "but I think I was meant to be here all the same. I suppose I'm just glad you were here to share it with me."

Saliman understood her sudden desire to find meaning in such a horrible place. Perhaps it was the only way people could go on when faced with such bitter realities. Saliman certainly hoped that his suffering would mean something to someone. He reached out and Hekibel slunk back under his arm against his side. "It is not the end, you know. We're in a bad spot now and it seems like this is how everything good ends, but I think there is light on the horizon. There's still hope."

They lay back on Saliman's cloak, looking up at the stars that winked weakly through the clouds of smoke produced by the Black Army. Hekibel turned so she could wrap her arms around Saliman and bask in the warm glow. She thought of the battle that would begin tomorrow but end in Dagra, and she wondered what would become of her few friends who were bound for worse fates than hers. Against Saliman she shivered.

"Don't fear for the morning," Saliman whispered into her hair. "I will return to you, I'll keep you safe from the Nameless One. This ugliness will be over soon."

* * *

A quarter past midnight and the First Circle gathered in the guardhouse adjacent the gate to meet with the captains of their forces and relay their plan. It was no surprise to learn they were not fighting to win, only fighting to fight, to give the Black Army one last challenge before they claimed northern Annar for the Nameless One. Their strategy was vicious: choose their battle grounds, strike in the dark then get out fast, sacrifice anything in the city if it could cost more soldiers. Gorilla warfare.

As the captains left, Indik glanced around the guard house once more. "It's going to be bloody," he said conversationally. "But by the Light, it'll be a good way to go."

Silvia, who was thinking of what the raven had said the Lirigon's First Circle, opened her mouth to say something, but thought better of it and crossed the room to the window. In the dead of night, she could see the faint red glow in the distance: the Black Army was on their doorstep. "Let it not be said Innail stood by and let the Nameless One claim the north."

"That will not be said," agreed Kelia, joining her and taking a firm grip on her wrist. "We'll defend the Light to very last."

Malgorn was studying Silvia's profile, his thoughts on their evening together and thinking he would rather see her dead than a captive in the Dark Tower. "Then let us begin. They will rouse their army soon for the first attack and we must be ready."

The First Circle went their separate ways: Indik to the wall, Kelia to the School, Silvia and Malgorn in the city proper. Layers of defense would be key to stopping the Black Army, so spreading out their most powerful Bards would help bolster such defenses. As the night faded to inky black, the Black Army began to move and the vibrations resounded through the ground, scattering small animals and announcing their approach for miles. In the School, the defenders of Innail readied their weapons.

The first wave of attack came early when the sky was the blue black of predawn and the stars were faint. The wind grew still as the Hulls cast a spell to prevent a change in the weather and it was like a deep breath before a long plunge. The Bards in Innail sensed the change and loosened their weapons so they were ready when wers poured from the dark sky above. Like before, the Bards had built a protective barrier around the School, and the wers were repelled, but they crashed upon it relentlessly, driven by a master far worse than the Landrost. Each collision was like distant thunder and below them, the Bards trembled. But the shield held and they were spared for the moment.

Outside the city, the captains of the Black Army seethed in anger at the cunning of the wards placed about the city. The wers they could waste, but time, they couldn't. They turned their red gaze on the wards and allowed their master to view the city through eyes. The Nameless One beheld the spiderweb of light that grew around the city in a golden dome and called on his power to break the barriers. At first, there was a furious storm that tore at trees and sent dirt flying to the air, and then the ground shivered underfoot and just like in Lirigon, some heavy, inexorable force pounded the wards. On the third blow, they shattered and the golden light flickered and died.

The wers poured into the city and the Bards and soldiers in Innail engaged them in vicious battle. They had known that the barriers would break, and they had prepared for the onslaught. Hundreds of archers aimed flaming arrows up at the heavens. The wers caught fire and fell to the ground like disfigured, burning angels where they were quickly slaughtered. The Hulls hissed in anger as a battalion of their servants fell to the Bards, but they summoned the dogsoldiers next and set their eyes on the gate.

Indik was at the gate, watching the Black Army roil before him as the horrid beasts of fire and iron made their way to the front of the line. Around him, his soldiers were shivering in horror of the creatures, but they did not flee. He lifted his hand, signaling his men to aim their bows and wait to fire. The dogsoldiers slogged forward, crushing the infantry before them and just as they made it to the front of the lines, Indik's hand came down.

The arrows arched through the air and landed with unerring precision in piles of rubble and kindling arranged in a semicircular line around the city wall. The dogsoldiers paused, studying the flames that licked at the debris, glowing faintly in the predawn light. Tentatively, carefully, one of the dogsoldiers came forward, nosing at the flame. It was then that the Bards along the wall emerged from behind ranks of soldiers and as one, fanned the flames into a wall of fire. The dogsoldiers fell back, furious at the show of force and howled. The strange cries, part animal, part tortured man echoed up to the Bards in the city.

"That will keep the beasts at bay for now," Indik said gruffly to himself. Of course, the rubble would burn down, especially at the rate the Bards were stoking the fire, but they had arranged another line of rubble and tinder. It had been wrench, the materials were parts of buildings from Innail itself, but the city hadn't planned to rebuild.

The Hulls in the Black Army came forward, curious as to the fires that scared the soldiers away. When the soldiers drew back, the flames had simmered down and licked the tinder like a candle. As soon as the Hulls approached, the Bards called the flame up again. The Hulls thought it was similar to Lirigon, but they could not build bridges across it. Instead, they would have to burn the fire out. The Hulls ordered soldiers to approach the flames and try and cross them. The Bards were disgusted with their work, but they stoked the flames back up and burned the men who approached.

It continued on for almost two hours, until the sun had risen. The soldiers worried the Bards like wolves chasing a wounded bison. They never let the flames die down, constantly trying to cross the barrier, and though they were badly burned for it, soon, the rubble had turned to ash and the first line of fire could be crossed. They were met with another wave of fire, though, and it bought the Bards the last bit of freedom before the battle began.

Indik was watching the events at the wall with sharp eyes. _They'll be to the gate in an hour's time. Are you men ready?_

_ We are, _said Malgorn from his and Silvia's place in the city.

_The School is prepared, _Kelia said sternly.

_Good, I'll let you know when the gate is breached. _

It came faster than the Bards were prepared for. Once the second wall of flames had extinguished itself, the Black Army stormed forward. Upon the wall, Indik's men were firing arrows at random, not waiting for his command. The Bards among them were calling up White Flame to send showering down on the soldiers. It seemed to hold the Black Army back for a time, but they pressed forward, making room for a contingent of Hulls to approach the gates.

"Stop them!" Indik cried, taking aim and firing at a Hull on the side. His aim was true and the arrow lodged itself in the Hull's rib. It fell back, screaming curses and grabbing at the arrow, for it had been spelled by a Hull and burned with White Fire.

The Bards switched their attention to the Hulls, but they had realized the arrows were spelled. The Hulls drew up their own barrier of Black Flame to protect them and ordered soldiers to crowd tight about them. Indik ran for the gate, to stand on the very precipice and rain White First down on the Hulls. They built up their shield but Indik's will was great and the Fire grew hotter and hotter, burning away the shield. A second Hull fell back, howling in agony as his spell hit them, but the others pressed forward.

Up on the gate, Indik felt the force of their spell building. It wasn't slow like in Lirigon, though, it was a rhythmic pounding that grew louder and louder, the boards of the gate warping inward under pressure. The gate bowed like a ship's sail caught in the wind and the Hulls' red eyes gleamed, they could taste victory near at hand. Indik watched the gate bending in horror, ordering his men to attack the Hulls, but it was too late now: the spell would break soon and the gate would shatter.

There was a moment for Indik when everything around him came into perfect focus and clarity. He saw the his own soldiers running along the wall, saw the Hulls throwing forth their will, and saw the undeniable tide of the Black Army arrayed before him as individual soldiers. He felt the gate bend under his feet, felt the reverberations of the spell, then heard the horrible splintering as the gate broke then burst.

The force of the breaking gate created a rumble that was heard throughout the city and Malgorn and Silvia, who were down in the last circle, trembled. _They're through the gate! _Indik cried. _We'll hold them but they're through the gate!_

_ Good luck and may the Light protect you, _Silvia said and then turned back to her soldiers.

Arrayed before her were men and women, Bards and common folk all as one, and she faced them gravely. "The Black Army has breached the gate. Ready yourselves and remember, that we _will_ fall back. If the cause seems lost, retreat to the next circle and Malgorn's force." A few of the Bards looked uncomfortable with Silvia's command to retreat, but they knew the last circle had to fall, and hopefully, it's crumbling would take some of the Black Army with it.

_Be careful, Silvia, _Malgorn said gently. _As soon as it seems futile, retreat back to me._

_ Trust me, Malgorn, _Silvia returned as the sounds of battle reached her ears, _I'll come back when I'm good and ready._

Silvia and her force had taken the prime position up on a hilltop and had barrels of smoldering black tar. She had a terrible first glimpse of the army, no Hulls or dogsoldiers, just innocent men, running toward them, but she gave the signal and they emptied the barrels. It sloshed down the hills in a wave of black and she heard the petrified, agonized cries as men were burned. She ordered the archers forward as another wave of soldier surged up the hill and arrows whizzed by her with such force her hair whipped around her face. Bodies lined the street, forming bloody barrier which the Black Army hid behind, and for a long while, they fired upon the soldiers with no sign of Dark monsters or Hulls.

But the dogsoliders came, trampling the corpses of their comrades and spitting gouts of acid to burn a clear path. This was what the Bards had been waiting for, and they came to the fore. Buildings lined the street, and, unbeknownst to the dogsoldiers and minions of the Dark, the Bards had loosened the boards of the houses and laid them with spears. When the dogsoldiers were within twenty meters or them, the Bards burst the frames from the houses and the spears shot though the air.

Dogsolider howling rent the air and the Bards summoned White Fire to accompany the spears. Their soldiers fell back, arrows still knocked and ready for the next wave of men, and the Bards hurried them down another street, past more buildings lined with loose boards and spears, and they took another stand at the top of another steep hill.

Again, the infantry approached and again they let loose tar and arrows. This time, though, the dogsoldiers had fallen back and were replaced with a hoard of child soldiers. The Bards looked on, utterly horrified, for these were children snarling and waving swords, children whose eyes were sightless and hard and were crawling over corpses to reach them. The Bards turned to Silvia, who was too stunned to move, and waited for her command.

_They have children! _Silvia cried to the other members of the First Circle. _Child soldiers bearing the mark of the Dark Army._

_ The Light curse Sharma! _Malgorn snarled, turning to his own soldiers to warn them.

Silvia felt a dark pit opening up in her. If she fired, she murdered innocent children, if she hung back, her people would be slaughtered. She trembled at the weakness in her heart, but raised her hands to cast the spell. _This is the weight of authority, _she thought bleakly, _this is the burden of power. _

When they saw her take the lead, the other Bards joined Silvia, breaking the walls and sending the spears flying. The children fell in a series of shouts and cries, and though the Bards had to fight the urge to rush forward and help, they could see the dogsoliders in the distance and pressed back. There was one more hill before they entered the next circle and met Malgorn's forces, and Silvia wanted to give up then for fear of what would come next, but she ran down the street, she remembered that this was Innail and this was her home and she would rather die than surrender it. On the final hill, they released the tar and this time more dogsoldiers came, and though they speared a good many, their masters had word of their tricks and had built shields to protect them.

"Fall back!" Silvia cried to the soldiers. "Fall back to the next circle!"

Malgorn's forces met them as they raced through the gates to the next circle and Silvia joined him immediately. "_Child_ soldiers, Malgorn. I'm sure there are more, but I haven't a clue how to stop them. The Dark is cruel in this." She bowed her head, almost overcome with the grief, and Malgorn brushed the mud and blood from her face. She looked up into his face and her eyes were hollow. "They were children."

"Do not lose heart yet, my love," Malgorn murmured while around them the men and women prepared for the onslaught. "Do not allow yourself to be overcome with sorrow."

She lifted his chin definitely. "I swear on the Light, Malgorn, that I will kill as many Hulls as I can for that crime. I will make them pay for the lives of the innocent." Her anger was impressive to behold and Malgorn felt himself quiver with the intensity of her energy.

"They come now, my love. Hold fast to your anger and your courage!"

They both swung about as the cries from the army rose up. Silvia loosened her blade and it made a sound like ice cracking as it came free of the scabbard. "Do you think Indik still lives? The Bards at the front gate?"

"I haven't heard from him." Malgorn was watching the black shapes emerging and hoping very much that Silvia was wrong and the Nameless One was not capturing the First Circle. In that moment, he wished that Indik was dead rather than a prisoner.

"The Light protect him," Silvia said breathlessly and took Malgorn's hand. She pulled him to her and kissed him once more. "I will see you on the other side of this. Here or beyond the Gates, my love."

Silvia turned to join her contingent, heading for the School where they would regroup and make their last stand. Malgorn watched her go, his heart blazing with pride and then turned to face the onslaught. At the front, he saw the dogsoldiers that burned away corpses of men and horses, abandoned weapons and scattered debris. Behind them, came more infantry, and mixed among the grown men, he could just see small figures darting here and there, bride blades gleaming at their hips.

_Call up the storm, _Malgorn said tersely to the Bards in the back of their lines.

They began weather-working immediately, calling up a fierce deluge and wind that battered the encroaching forces. The men seemed to waver in response, but the dogsoliders pushed on unhampered. They reached the gate that barred the entrance to the next circle and leapt forward all teeth and claws and horrid green acid, but there was a startling flash of white light and the barrier repelled them.

_A little bit of time, _thought Malgorn, staring at the dogsoliders that were snarling and lunging at the barrier of White Fire. He saw that the rest of the army, furious at being held in check and bludgeoning out of the control, had taken to destroying the buildings in the near vicinity. It mattered little to him if the city was destroyed, they would all be dead by morning anyway, but there was something particularly petty about ripping apart an empty city. They were demolishing his home because they could, not because they had to.

Malgorn felt a quick anger course through him and he bared his teeth in a silent snarl. "That barrier will only hold for a little while longer, and when it breaks, the army will fall on us with a vengeance. Can we make the storm any stronger?"

"Not without damaging the city itself," one Bard said tiredly.

"They're damaging the city plenty," Malgorn said ironcically, ordering the men to fall back a safe distance. "Make a hurricane if you have to. Batter them into the mud."

The Bards weather-working called up more wind and rain and soon the gusts of wind roared and hail replaced the rain. The Black Army was furious at the Bard's quick storm and the Hulls didn't have the skill to stop it. Orders were sent forward and soon the dogsoliders were throwing themselves against the barrier, each blow like a hammer against stone. As afternoon came in and the barrier still hadn't broken, though, the crowds began to part and a fell creature crept toward the front of the line.

Malgorn studied the thing from afar but his eyes couldn't rest on it. It seemed to be shrouded in shadow, but occasionally the darkness shifted and he caught the glimpse of a pale, boney hand. When the dogsoldiers came to heel and made way for the Dark creature, Malgorn knew it was a creature of Abyss. He threw out his Bard senses and tensed when he felt the void the creature produced: a kulag or maybe even a wight.

"It's going to break the barrier!" he called to his soldiers who looked aghast. "The forces of the Black Army will bear down upon us then, but you must be brave. You must remember what we fight for."

Malgorn unsheathed his sword and it flashed coldly in the light of the high sun. When the wight approached the barrier, it burned with White First, but the wight merely stared at it, unblinking. Even in the distance, Malgorn could sense its merciless will, it's desire to destroy the paltry wall before it, and then hunger to consume the defenders of the Light on the other side.

_It falls on me to fight the wight, _Malgorn thought, screwing up his courage. _It is me who must bear its wrath. _Somehow, the knowledge was like a release. He knew now what he had to face, he no longer had to wonder in fear what the Dark would send against him. _If I die, it'll be fast. There will be no time for slow torture and that itself is a blessing._

Malgorn felt the vibrations in the air as the wight blasted the barrier and it broke into thousands of pieces, minute falling stars that blazed in the air and fizzled out. Silence hung a moment between Dark and Light, and then the sound of pounding rose up like a wave and the Dark Army rushed forward. Behind him, the defenders of Innail shifted, bracing for the impact.

When it came, complete madness ensued. Malgorn was at the front of the charge and had tried to keep his attention focused on the wight, but at the Black Army fell on them, he lost it in fray. His arm moved automatically, bringing the blade up and swiping it down on the first man who came within range. Malgorn's entire arm trembled as his sword lodged itself in a man and he had to strain to free in time to dodge another blow. He moved forward, hacking and slashing as he went, and around him, he saw others from Innail inching forward.

They had met the Black Army in the street and so the space was narrow for combat and oncoming soldiers were forced through a bottleneck. It favored the people of Innail, who could kill attacking men as they tried to coming farther into the city, but it also meant that when the dogsoldiers approached, pushing forward through the army, the Bards had to meet them head on.

Malgorn was trying to find the wight in the crowd because he thought that, aside from Hulls, it would do the most damage to his forces. He moved smoothly, dodging blows from men whose eyes inside their helm were bright with fear and anger, he cut men down when he had to, their blood splashing his face. On his right, he saw three Bards struggling with a dogsoldier, dodging its acid and trying in vain to stop it reaching the humans. On the left, he saw a group of children launch themselves at some of his soldiers, who stared in blank horror at the prospect of killing children.

_Find the wight before it can cut a path through the people, _he told himself. Malgorn could taste blood in the air and it made him shiver. While he knew now that he would have to fight the wight, he was also painfully aware of his skills in battle. He wasn't Cadvan or Saliman, who were warriors in their own right, he was a Bard of beasts and birds. He could fight, yes, but he wasn't skilled enough to kill the creature. _Find the wight and at least _try _to stop it killing everyone. _He wondered if Indik would have been a better First Bard.

Something snarled at him and he was jarred from his thoughts when a dogsoldier loped toward him. He didn't think, just raised his hand and called on White Fire. The force of his blow lit a path of white light through the crowd and soldiers fell back crying out as the heat burned them. The dogsoldier was hit squarely in the chest and fell to the ground in a pile of limbs, its mouth hung open and acid gushed out, pooling around the corpse. Its rider had been crushed under the weight of the felled monster and its deathly pale face stared up at the sky.

Malgorn trembled at the force of his own attack and wondered for a brief moment if there was even a _chance _he might live the day. The common soldiers of the Black Army had fallen back from the deceptively powerful Bard, but only to make way for another. Malgorn's attack had certainly impressed the Black Army, but he might as well have announced his arrival with a trumpet and banner. He was the most powerful Bard in the battle and so the most dangerous Dark creature had to deal with him.

The wight had appeared in the space where the dogsoldier had been. It stood still, examining the pile of metal and acid and blood with keen interest before switching its gaze up to Malgorn. Its dead eyes flicked over him dismissively and Malgorn smarted at the insolent expression on its face. He tightened his grip on the sword and took a few steps closer.

"You've no business here, creature of the Abyss. Go back to the darkness and emptiness from whence you came!" Malgorn cried. He didn't think the wight could hear him over the sounds of battle around them, but the wight tilted its head slightly, eyes on his face.

"I have business with the First Bard of Innail. You are he." The wight raised its hand and a black flame sparked to life. "You have opposed me, attempted to deny me entrance to what is mine. You will know my wrath."

Malgorn lifted the blade so the light glanced off it and the wight snarled. "You will know the edge of my blade."

The wight shot forward smoothly, like it wasn't walking, simply floating over bodies and debris in its way. Its other hand came up and Malgorn saw that its fingers were long, jagged black claws. Its mouth opened too wide in a terrible screech and Malgorn hefted the blade up so that when the thing hit him, its claws were deflected by the edge.

"Throw down your weapon and surrender and perhaps I will spare you torment. Your death will be mercilessly quick." The wight fell back then threw a handful of Black Fire at Malgorn. "Order your men to surrender and spare them my wrath."

Malgorn answered the Black Fire with his own blazing White Flame and the wight darted sideways. Its dark eyes narrowed. "You will not scare us. You are not a creature of this world, you have no power here!"

The wight laughed and it was like gravel underfoot. "_This world_ is ash and dust. It is dead. You are all dead, you just don't know it yet."

Malgorn lifted his sword and brought is down on the wright. The force of his blow was enough to rattle the wight's arms and two of its claws shattered. Its face contorted in fury. "I'll strip you of your skin while you still breathe!" it howled, slashing wildly. "I'll drink your blood, I'll rip out your tongue. I'll piece your eyes so you weep blood!" It punctuated each of these threats with a slash of its hands and Malgorn was forced sideways toward an alley. "And still I will not kill you, I will make you live a thousand days and nights, a pitiful, broken thing."

Malgorn ducked under one of its blows and threw up his hand and White Fire shot from his palm. It hit the wight and caught its robe of shadows on fire. The wight yowled like a cat and danced backward, extinguishing the flame with its own dark blaze. In the short time between blows, Malgorn had checked the battle. While Innail was holding their own, he could hear more dogsoldiers and he knew the Black Army had plenty more men to sacrifice. He didn't think his men would last the day.

_Get the School ready, _he told Kelia and Silvia. _We'll hold them off a few hours yet, but I expect the Black Army will overwhelm us._

He could sense Silvia's trepidation. _Can you bring your forces to join ours?_

_ No, _Malgorn sighed. He felt a wave of Silvia's despair wash over him. Whatever she had said, she had wanted to meet him again. It was so powerful an emotion that Malgorn almost dropped his blade then and ran to her. _I'm sorry, but we're in the thick of it now. I don't know how we could get out._

_ We understand, _Kelia said firmly. _May the Light keep you, Malgorn._

Silvia's presence lingered and Malgorn fought back tears. _I'm sorry, Silvia, but I don't think I'll see you again. _

_I'll love you as long as I live, _she said and her voice shook.

_And I you. I promise you'll be the last thing I think of before the dark, _he said, turning his attention back to wight.

It had recovered from the White Fire and Malgorn was pleased to see that one of its hands was burnt black. Its lips curled back revealed rows of sharp teeth. "You'll pay for that, Bard."

"I don't fear you," Malgorn cried, lifting his blade.

"Then you are a fool."

The wight raised both its hands and brought them down so a wall of air hit Malgorn and sent him tumbling backward down the alley where he crashed into a wooden fence. His sword flew out of his grasp and clattered against a wall a few feet away. Malgorn saw bright lights behind his eyes and struggled to extricate himself from the pile of wood, but the wight got there first. It grabbed him by the shirt and dragged him free, throwing him against the side of a brick building. Malgorn tasted blood in his mouth and he rolled, reaching for anything that might serve as a weapon. His hand landed on a loose board but the wight brought its booted foot down on his hand with enough force to break the bones.

Malgorn screamed. "The Light take you!"

"There is no Light," the wight said, eyes gleaming as it drank in Malgorn's anguish. "The sun has set on this world. The dark comes now. Do you feel it in your blood and bones? Do you feel death stalking the land?" It studied Malgorn closely. "I wonder what type of man you are. I wonder beneath that handsome face what your soul looks like Will you go quiet in the end or will you beg and plead in agony for mercy?"

"Curse you," croaked Malgorn, trying to free his hand. The wight twisted his boot so his wrist was under the heel.

"We'll know each other so well in the end, First Bard. I look forward to it."

The wight lifted its unburnt hand and Malgorn knew it was going to strike him down. He closed his eyes, he saw Silvia as she had been the previous evening: her bare body painted golden in the setting sun, her red hair on fire, her eyes glowing with pleasure and adoration. He could feel her lips on him, her hands on him, her body moving against his. _Silvia_, he thought.

But the weight of the wight suddenly shifted and a familiar voice said, "Then this will be an unfortunate change of events for you."

Malgorn's eyes snapped open just in time to see a blade bury itself in the wight's back and jut out of its chest. The wight took a step back, staring at the hole in its chest and opened its mouth to scream, but the blade scythed the air again and the wight's head came free of its body. Malgorn watched mouth agape as the head bounced away and the body dissolved into black smoke.

"I see I came just in time, my friend."

"Cadvan!" Malgorn pulled himself up onto his knees and Cadvan helped him to his feet unsteadily. "Cadvan, what are you doing here?"

Malgorn inspected Cadvan closely. He seemed unchanged since their last meeting, though there was an unnatural strain in his face and his eyes seemed shadowed. Still, he was the last person Malgorn had expected to meet, and more than grateful for his timely arrival.

"Is that how you greet an old friend?" Cadvan dissembled. He smiled crookedly, and though it might have been the scars, Malgorn was sure there was something strange to his smile. "An old friend who just saved your life, I might add?"

"I thought you and Maerad were off to look for her brother," he said, composing himself. Malgorn gave himself a little shake, this was Cadvan, after all. "Where is Maerad?" he asked with a start.

"Safe," Cadvan said shortly, casting a look back down the alley where the fighting was still ongoing. "Far from here but safe."

"Nowhere is safe," Malgorn said, the shock of Cadvan's arrival wearing off and the reality setting back in. "By the Light, Cadvan, we're in the middle of a war! How did you get here? Did you see Indik at the gate? Have you seen the Black Army?"

"Aye, I've seen it," Cadvan said tersely, turning back to Malgorn. "And no, I haven't seen Indik. But you say he was at the gate? And Siliva?"

"She's at the School with Kelia and the rest of our forces." Malgorn inspected his hand. It was thoroughly broken but his right hand was his sword hand and that was fine. "I don't know that we'll be able to get to the School, though."

"No, I don't think so," agreed Cadvan.

Malgorn looked about for his sword but the alley seemed empty. He frowned, sure it had fallen not far out of reach. "Cadvan, have you seen my sword?"

Cadvan blinked at him and threw back his cloak so Malgorn could see his blade tucked into his belt. "You must have dropped it when the wight threw you."

"Good you found it then." Malgorn held out his hand. "I'll be needing it back."

Cadvan, though, made no move to give it back. "You're injured. Perhaps you ought to sit this one out."

"_Sit it out_?" Malgorn laughed hysterically. "Have you gone mad? Sit it out _where_? By tomorrow the School will be under the command of the Dark. Where would you have me go?"

"I meant only that you're the First Bard, you're more important than this battle. We should go up to the School."

Cadvan still hadn't given the sword back, and again Malgorn noticed how tense he seemed. How his eyes never rested on Malgorn's face. "I must stay here and fight. Before this battle is over, they will need me here."

"Come now," urged Cadvan, smiling tightly, "you're left hand is useless. You would serve Innail better at the School with the First Circle."

Malgorn gave Cadvan a stern look and held out his hand. "I know where I'll serve Innail best. Now give me my sword. If you want to go to the School so bad, go. I won't stop you."

There was a sudden rumble through the ground and a thunderous roar in the distance. "That was faster than I thought," Cadvan breathed.

"What was? What are you talking about, Cadvan?" When Cadvan didn't reply Malgorn lunged forward to grab his sword. Cadvan jumped and pushed him back, but Malgorn grabbed him by the arm and they stumbled against a wall. Malgorn, who was holding Cadvan by the arm, gasped in horror at what he saw. "The Sick Moon," he whispered, staring nonplussed.

"Malgorn, forgive me-"

Malgorn threw Cadvan back, searching his face. "Cadvan, what have you done?"

"I swear, it wasn't my choice," he said earnestly. "I swear it on the Light that I didn't want to, but he had Maerad-"

"Who?" demanded Malgorn, now uncomfortably aware that he was without a weapon and injured. He was no match in battle for Cadvan. "Why do you have that mark?"

"Who else?" Cadvan laughed bitterly. "Who do you think could turn me?"

"Sharma," Malgorn whispered. "You swore an oath to Sharma."

"That makes it sound like I had quite a bit more autonomy, but you're not wrong." Cadvan looked up at him and Malgorn saw a flash of sorrow and shame in his eyes. Cadvan couldn't bear his gaze and looked away. "I didn't have a choice, and I don't now."

Malgorn realized why Cadvan was there and his mouth twisted in a sour smile. "You've been sent to come fetch me, haven't you? My friend, someone I trust, I would go with you willingly, is that it?"

"No," Cadvan said softly. "No, this is just the Nameless One playing games with me."

Malgorn heard a note of pain in the other Bard's voice. "I will not go with you willingly. I'm sorry, Cadvan, but even though you are my friend, I will have to fight you."

Cadvan bowed his head. "I expected nothing more of you." He looked up suddenly and smiled ruefully. "I hope when this is all over, you'll forgive me. I hope you'll understand why I did what I did." Cadvan didn't wait, he lifted his hand and Malgorn felt a pulse of energy where Cadvan had struck him.

The last thing he saw as he fell wasn't Silvia. It was Cadvan, looking miserable and small, and behind him, the streets of Innail being overrun with the Black Army


	24. Chapter 24

Hi everyone! So now I think we're almost to the end of part one, one more chapter, maybe two. Though its been pretty dark, I hope you've enjoyed the story so far!

Chapter Twenty-Four

Sharma smiled to himself as the vision of Innail vanished under the ripples of his pool. He savored his last glimpse of the city: buildings crumbling to dust, fire consuming the ruins and the School, overrun with his soldiers. He almost regretted not being there in person when his army took northern Annar for him, but it didn't matter now. He had won.

"What do you think, boy?" he asked Hem, who had been watching the chaos from his seat near the throne. "Less than two days to destroy a city, do you think it could be a record?"

Hem shuddered. "I don't know whose keeping track."

Sharma chuckled. "History." He stretched luxuriously, sighing in contentment. "Northern Annar is mine now, and Bards will be here soon. But what shall we do with them?"

Hem didn't know if Sharma was actually asking him, though he wouldn't put it past the monster. He turned his face away, to look out the window. It was dark in Dagra, but the fires that burned in the forges to make weapons were still glowing like stars in the distance. He wished Maerad were with him, it had been more than two months and he had no word of her. If she were here, she would know what to say to Sharma to make him stop his awful talk. She wasn't afraid of telling him off.

_But it's better she's gone, _he thought, _she's safer away from Sharma. _

"Slaves all," mused Sharma to himself, taking his seat and staring at the blank pool. "We'll have to make room for them here, perhaps the pits…"

Hem didn't know what the _pits_ were, but he guessed it would be unpleasant. He had seen few prisoners from Turbansk over the last few weeks and supposed that they had been tucked away somewhere miserable. He realized suddenly that he had never been to northern Annar and now he never would. The thought left a strange ache in his chest, one more thing the Dark had taken from him.

"The First Circle, though, that will be different." Sharma eyes darted down to Hem and he smiled so all his teeth shone. "You will mee them, boy. Perhaps they will be shocked to find the last son of the house and Karn in my power. Perhaps then they will know my might."

Hem stared up at his horrid, handsome face and burned with rage. "Just because you can capture a boy doesn't make you great and powerful!" he spat viciously. "It just makes you small and mean."

Sharma looped the chain that held Hem around his wrist and jerked him forward so he fell at Sharma's feet. He inspected the boy closely. "You've a mouth on you," he said softly. "I ought to rip your tongue out."

Hem leaned away, aware of the dark eyes on him. His senses were screaming at him to run, to get as far away as possible from the thing opposite him, but there was no escape. "I wouldn't be able to tell those jokes you're so fond of."

Sharma laughed then and leaned even closer so Hem could smell his breath. He was surprised when he picked up an overpowering scent of liquor. "You're right, it's better if you can speak. I can make you beg in front of that idiot from Turbansk. It'll break his pathetic heart."

Hem swallowed back his protests. "Haven't you done him enough harm?"

"No. All the Bards who opposed me must be punished. I've only just begun to play with him." Sharma leaned back in his seat, released his tight hold on Hem. "That man has a _long_ life ahead of him, and I intend to make him suffer for it."

Hem thought of the four Bards Sharma must hate the most: himself, Maerad, Saliman and Cadvan. It was like one of the tragic songs the Bards would play during meets or festivals: four great heroes, captured by the Dark and condemned to a life sorrow. Those songs broke peoples' hearts. Hem wondered if, in the future, songs would be sung of them, of their struggle and torment and their courage and their defeat.

_My whole life was one sad song. This is an appropriate ending, I guess. _But it wasn't how Saliman's song should have ended, because Saliman was brave and kind and good and served the Light his entire life. _He deserved something better._

"One day," Hem said thickly, sounding far braver than he felt, "one day you'll get yours and all the pain and suffering you caused will come back around."

"That sounds almost like a threat to me," Sharma said softly. "You know what happens to people who threaten me, don't you boy?"

Hem laughed hollowly. "Threaten you? I tried to _kill_ you! Don't you think I'm beyond that fear now?"

Sharma blinked, mildly impressed with the boy's courage, then grabbed him by a hank of hair and dragged him upright. Hem cried out, scrabbling at Sharma's hands, but Sharma held him fast. "Perhaps I ought to give you my mark too? Your sister has it right here." He poked Hem in his chest. "And that dolt you love like a father, here." He jabbed Hem's wrist. "So too that worthless Lirigon Bard."

Hem strained against his grip. "I'm not afraid," he insisted, saying it more to himself. "I'm not afraid."

"Of course, you're not," he cooed sweetly, and Hem heard the jangle of chains as Sharma removed his medallion of the Sick Moon. "Of course, you're a brave little boy, just like your father. Dorn of Pellinor, he wasn't afraid of my servants, he wasn't afraid even when they chopped off his head. Does that hurt? What my servants did?"

Hem was watching Sharma hold the medallion in his hands, heating it till it glowed in the dim light. "Your servants can rot!"

"You must want revenge, no? After all, I'm the reason your life has been so miserable, I'm the reason it will continue to. Where is your anger for my crimes?"

Hem looked up into his smirking face and his dead, dark eyes. "You'll never be free. The blood on your hands is a stain too deep for even eternity to wash away. You've cursed yourself."

A strange look passed over Sharma's face, like Hem had slapped him. Whatever he had expected Hem to say, that wasn't it. He bared his teeth in a snarl and threw Hem to the ground. The air was forced from his lungs by the blow, and Hem gasped, unable to prevent Sharma from pulling his shirt up and pressing the medallion into his right shoulder. Hem arched, shrieking, and his cries echoed around the room. Above him, Sharma chortled.

"You ought to be grateful for receiving my mark. Not many Bards will have it." Sharma eyed his work, admiring how the brand looked against Hem's darker skin. "And you'll see soon just how many Bards there are. Ettinor, Lirigon, Innail…they are mine."

Hem curled into a ball as the Sharma stood up. The boy was shaking, clutching his sides in a desperate attempt to ease his pain. Sharma smirked. Like his sister, the boy had a penchant for cursing and stubbornness, and like his sister, he needed to be taught obedience. He reflected on the other two Bards, Saliman and Cadvan, who had born his mark with resignation and silent fury, and realized that the children of Pellinor would require a different track altogether. Children had a resilience to torment that adults didn't, perhaps it was that they had more hope?

Sharma was still staring down at Hem, who was gasping for breath, when the door to his throne room was opened and Hull entered. It was looking particularly satisfied and bowed low as it approached the pair. Sharma didn't sit but gestured wide with his arms.

"What have you brought me to look so pleased?" he asked, wondering if the Bards from Lirigon were already there.

"The old man, my lord," said the Hull with a crooked grin. "Nelac of Lirigon."

Hem, who was lying on the ground, opened his eyes at the name. _Not Nelac, _he thought, panicked. _By the Light, do not have Nelac here._

"Bring him in," Sharma said and Hem heard the smile in his voice. The Hull left to fetch Nelac and Sharma looked down on Hem. "An old acquaintance of yours?"

Hem shakily tried to get to his knees, determined not to let Nelac find him groveling at Sharma's feet. "You've met your match in Bards. Nelac is the greatest Bard in all of Annar and the seven kingdoms."

"Excellent," Sharma said briskly, "it'll serve me well to tell the world that I broke the mind of the greatest Bard of all." Hem stared up at him, horrified.

And that was Nelac's first view of Sharma. When he was brought into the throne room, he first saw Hem, kneeling at Sharma's feet, his back disfigured by a brand of the Sick Moon and his face drawn in lines of tension. Sharma was looking down on him with a predatory light in his eyes and a razor sharp smile. Nelac was shocked, too, that Sharma seemed so _human _in person. The stories of his terrible visage, of the forms he had been forced to assume after he had broken the Song, were apparently incorrect. Sharma had the look of a handsome man, a young king in the prime of his youth. It was only his eyes, when they switched up to Nelac, that were dark and merciless.

"Nelac of Lirigon," said Sharma, and his voice was melodic and deep. "I've just been talking with young Cai about you. He assures me you are the greatest Bard in the world and that I will be hard pressed to break you."

Nelac moved slowly into the room, watching Hem. The poor boy looked petrified and tired, and Nelac didn't dare wonder what Sharma had done to him. He said calmly, "I have spent myself in service to the Light. I have no intention of allowing myself to be enslaved by you."

"Yes, well," Sharma said with a hint of amusement, "two of your former students said much the same, but they have since found themselves in my employ."

Nelac bristled at Sharma's words, for he doubted that _employment _appropriately captured their current state. "Cadvan and Saliman."

"Indeed. They put up a mighty fight at first, but I brought them low. I forced their minds and ripped their True Names from their throats and now they are slaves to my will. I sent them with my army to aid in the conquest in the north. I hear Lirigon went hard, I hear Cadvan was broken hearted."

Nelac closed his eyes. Forcing a Bard's mind was tantamount to murder, a violation of a person's most secret self. He pitied Cadvan and Saliman their captivity, and he hated Sharma all the more for his callous disregard for a person's being. "You ought to be careful about breaking hearts so wantonly. It incites passions and lusts for revenge."

Sharma was intrigued. "Oh? You think Cadvan will turn his wrath on me? You think he will find a way to free himself and kill me?"

"You sow the seeds of your own discord," Nelac said simply.

"Cadvan will do what I tell him, because now, in addition to having his woman, I have his trusted mentor. The father of his magery and the man he most admires." Sharma abandoned his place beside Hem and approached Nelac. The old Bard had to fight the urge to back up: Sharma's presence was overwhelming. "And what of you, Nelac? By what bonds of love and friendship shall I have you?"

Nelac turned away under the intense, searching gaze. "None. Those things which I love you have already destroyed."

"Lirigon?" Sharma's eyes narrowed. "Cadvan and Saliman? But, come, there must be others you care for? Innocent men and women you would trade their safety for."

"I do not trust you to keep your word," Nelac responded, trying to buy himself more time because he knew that the end of this conversation would be the breaking of his mind.

Sharma made a wide, sweeping gesture toward Hem who was tugging listlessly on his chain. "I swore to Saliman to let him live, and see, he lives. And believe me, Nelac, I had reason for wanting him dead. That little whelp tried to kill me."

"And his sister? Where have you put Maerad?" Nelac kept the tremble out of his voice, but he feared the girl had been subject to some awful treatment.

Sharma perceived all of this and smiled loosely. "Cadvan's little lover? Don't fear for her, I kept my word to him too. She is safe and sound, learning the new way of things."

The last words caught Nelac up but he didn't pursue them. "You've caught me too late, I'm afraid. I've long since set aside lovers."

Sharma's face twisted into something ugly. "Soon, the Bards of all northern Annar will be brought to me, and when they do, you will have the chance to protect those you love. Do not pretend there aren't any."

"So, I am to wait?" Nelac asked sharply. "I am to sit I the comfort of your fastness and wait until those poor souls arrive so I can pick and choose whose life to spare?"

"Why sound so miserable about it? I'm giving you the opportunity to protect others."

"Yes, but for every person I choose, there are countless others that aren't chosen." Nelac's face darkened. "But I suppose that is part of your game?"

"You're half clever, you know that?" Sharma began to circle the older Bard, trying to decide how best to use him. "It took the others days to figure out that bittersweet part of my offer. Everything has consequences, even love, and you Bards never understood that. You mocked my desire for power, you said I didn't _understand _the ways of the heart, but I do. Now, it's your turn to be small and mean and pathetic. Now, you get to decide who lives and who dies."

Nelac's eyes moved to Hem, who was watching him a blank look. He suspected that had Hem tried to help him, Sharma would have been doubly vicious. "Free Maerad and Hem, give Cadvan and Saliman back their Names."

Sharma came to a halt, something dark and angry flashing across his eyes. "Never."

"Then there is nothing I want." Nelac turned to face Sharma properly. "You might as well take my Name now, since I won't be trading it for anything later."

Sharma stared unblinking at Nelac for a moment, debating his next step forward. His lips curled downward in a frustrated frown. "You are not lying," he said at last.

"Wait!" Hem called out, unable to help himself. Nelac couldn't just give up, he had to fight, he had to help them find a way to stop Sharma.

"Quiet, boy," Sharma growled. He stepped up to Nelac and took his chin in his hand. The Bard shivered at the touch and tried to focus his eyes elsewhere. Nelac wondered briefly how much it would hurt, how much he could really bear. Sharma's nails dug into his skin and he smiled toothily. "I think, though, we'll wait." He released Nelac in a rush of air and was sitting back on his throne, peering at the Bard.

"Waiting for a holiday?" Nelac asked dryly before he could help himself.

"I want the other Bards to see it," Sharma said lightly. "I want the most powerful Bards in all of Annar and the seven kingdoms see the great Nelac of Lirigon torn down. If I do it now, the only witness to your defeat is the boy and that's not good enough for a Bard of your stature."

"I'm flattered," Nelac said in a harsh voice.

"It'll prove excellent entertainment for the victory celebration." Sharma relaxed in his seat. "Until then, I think we'll keep you out of sight, somewhere quiet and dark where you can think on your future."

* * *

Malgorn came to groggily, his eyes unfocused and his head pounding. He tasted something bitter and realized that someone had shoved a length of cloth in his mouth. He tested his arms and found that his hands were bound behind him with cord so tight it dug into his wrists. Malgorn strained against the bonds but they didn't give and he slumped against whatever hard thing was supporting him, his last memories flashing before his eyes: the burning city of Innail, the Black Army overrunning his men, and Cadvan…Cadvan betraying him to the Dark. Suddenly, the room around him-the scene before him-came into focus.

He was in the Signing Hall, pressed up against one of the great pillars that supported the roof. To his side, sagging against her own ropes was Silvia, her head was bowed and she was gagged. Malgorn first noticed the cut on her forehead that was dribbling a stream of blood down her face, next the bruise on her cheek, and finally, that someone had removed her armor so she was dressed in nothing but a flimsy tunic and loose leggings. Her thought she looked painfully exposed in a world that was gripped by war, but she was breathing and he was beyond grateful for that.

Beyond her, on the next pillar was Kelia. She was in a similar state of undress and, hanging in ropes, sporting a bleeding gash on her side. From his limited view, Malgorn judged it wasn't fatal so long as it was cleaned promptly, but he didn't doubt it hurt. To his left, Indik was restrained, but he was awake, and though one of his eyes was swollen shut the other was fixed on the scene before them. Malgorn looked.

Cadvan was dodging the swing of a Hull, stumbling back a few steps and fetching up against a table. The Hull brought the sword up and then down like a hammer. Cadvan spun out of the way and the sword lodged itself in the table. He twisted like a snake, his own sword slicing a path through the air toward the Hull's neck, but the Hull threw up its hand and a pulse of energy rippled outward. Cadvan was flung back by a ball of air and his sword clanged as it landed on the stone floor. Malgorn watched the Hull grab the scruff of Cadvan's neck and drag him toward the empty fire pit in the center of the room. It raised its hand and the blank coals in the pit sputtered to life. The Hull took his right wrist and forced it toward the flames and Malgorn flinched away.

"Stop it," commanded a soft voice. "What use is there in burning his hands to quick when we might have need of them?"

"He attacked me," the Hull answered, throwing off Cadvan's struggling with a shrug. "He raised that sword to me!"

"Well, you were prodding the sleeping bear, weren't you?" Malgorn watched as another Hull emerged from the shadows, looking around the Signing Hall as if trying to recall a memory. After a moment, it shrugged dismissively. "Picking on his friends isn't nice."

"He had no right to come between me and my fun," the Hull groused, but it released Cadvan who clutched his wrist tightly.

"Save your fun till we'll back in Dagra, or, better yet, save it for another Bard. The woman is part of the First Circle, and you know our master wants them untouched upon arrival. He wants them for himself."

The Hull that had attacked Cadvan cast a dark look at Silvia and Malgorn bristled. "Let me have a little time with her. It'll prepare her for our master."

"I said _no_." The Hull had come up to where Cadvan was nursing his wrist and looked down on him fondly. It ruffled his hair like he was a small boy and smiled widely. "You'll hurt poor, little Cadvan's feelings, and he's already in such a sour mood as it is."

Malgorn saw Cadvan recoil from the touch. "Keep your foul hands off her," he said gruffly.

"There's no need for name calling, Cadvan." The Hull studied him a moment. "Imagine what they'll call you. Betrayer, traitor, liar. Doesn't feel very good, does it?"

Cadvan looked away and Malgorn felt a confusing tangle of emotions in his stomach. Cadvan _had_ betrayed him and that anger, that hurt, went very deep. But he was his friend. And if the Hull's treatment of him was any indication, they were not allies. Cadvan turned his gaze away, toward the fire pit.

"Perhaps I betrayed Innail but I won't look the other way while you and yours hurt my friends."

"Think that will make them look on you fondly?" pondered the Hull, and its eyes moved up to where Malgorn and Indik were watching. "I doubt it. But let's ask, shall we?"

Cadvan followed Likud's gaze and noticed Malgorn and Indik watching him. Something in him seemed to flinch, but he managed to recover quickly enough. He stood, still holding his injured wrist and followed Likud across the room. The Hull looked from face to face, enjoying the sensation of fear and disgust that rolled off the two Bards.

"This must be quite an odd experience for you," the Hull said casually to Cadvan. "Not long ago, you were brothers-at-arms, now…well, now, I suppose you have quite a different relationship. Do you think they're going to forgive you for betraying Innail?"

Cadvan carefully didn't look at Malgorn when he said, "If they are angry, it is their right, but I would think two members of the First Circle may be wise enough to forgive me. One day."

Likud's thin lips pressed together in annoyance. "You ask forgiveness for your crimes from _them_? There is only one master you answer to now, Cadvan."

"The Nameless One isn't my master," Cadvan hissed, ignoring the shock on the other's Bards' faces.

"No? I was under impression you had sworn him your Name and service? I was under the impression you obeyed his orders? But perhaps I am wrong, perhaps you are a free man to do as you like. Go ahead, prove yourself."

Indik and Malgorn watched Cadvan carefully. He didn't have a sword, but he was surely possessed of an incredible Gift. He could strike the Hull down with White Fire if he chose. But Cadvan looked uncertainly between the two men and then back at Likud, and then lowered his gaze. Indik's eyes widened incredulously.

"As I suspected," Likud said, amusement clear in his voice. The Hull fixed Cadvan with a impetuous look, a sneer curling its lips. "Now, why don't you be a good little Bard and keep an eye on our First Circle while I go find that idiot from Turbansk."

_Idiot from Turbansk? _Malgorn mused. _Saliman? _

The Hull stormed off with a foul look and Cadvan didn't envy Saliman any. He waited until Likud had left before turning back to Malgorn and Indik. After a moment, he shook his head saying, "I suppose you have questions?" He tugged the gags free of their mouths.

Malgorn seemed to falter but Indik was fast. "What in the name of the Light are you doing here, Cadvan? And what are you doing with Hulls?"

"Nothing I enjoy."

Indik spat. "Don't play word games with me."

Cadvan looked suddenly helpless and a hollow laugh escaped him. "I suppose I'm here to be humiliated and punished for defying the Nameless One. I assure you, he was not happy with me when I went before him."

Indik breathed in sharply. "You were taken to Sharma?"

Cadvan's smile turned bitter. "Maerad and I and Saliman and Hem."

Malgorn recalled Hekibel's tale of Saliman and Hem's capture. He had thought then they might have been killed, but this…this was far worse. "What happened to Maerad and her brother?"

"Nothing." Cadvan's dark eyes moved to Malgorn. "Nothing yet. But that is another reason why I'm here."

Silvia's words came back to Malgorn, her promise that she would trade herself to the Nameless One if it protected him. He closed his eyes as if in pain. "He has Maerad and you-you gave him your Name in exchange for her?"

"Just so." Cadvan took a step back, but then glanced up at them both desperately. "_I_ _didn't want to_. I would rather have died, but it wasn't my death he wanted. He wants us alive to see his victory, alive to live with our guilt."

Malgorn fidgeted. Cadvan had deceived him, but then…would he have done the same if Silvia were captive in Dagra? A terrible realization washed over him that he would soon be in the same situation. "Did he…force you?"

Cadvan considered the question with a twisted smile. "I gave him my Name and he used it to enter my mind. Was it forced? For three days I lived in torment while he sifted through my memories, my thoughts, my desires. Even now, he has left me with an injury I cannot heal, a door for his consciousness. But was it forced? I gave him my Name, I should have known what he would do with it."

Malgorn's eyes shifted to Silvia. "He is returned then? Did Maerad give him the Song?"

"She didn't have a choice," Cadvan sighed. "It wasn't just me and Saliman he was holding over her. It was all the Bards in all of Annar and the seven kingdoms. I think, had she fought him on it, this war would have ended even worse."

"Worse than this?" Indik jerked his chin toward the doors to the Singing Hall though which the desolation of Innail could be glimpsed. "Our home is destroyed, our people are slaves. You say it could be worse?"

"I would not underestimate the Nameless One's ability to do more harm," was all Cadvan said. Beside them, Silvia was stirring, tugging on her hands tiredly. Cadvan moved immediately to help her, removing the gag and brushing away some of the blood. When she saw his face, Silvia gasped.

"Cadvan! I thought it was a nightmare when I saw Saliman approaching me in battle, but then, if you're here it must have been real." Cadvan had a fairly good idea of what had happened when Saliman found Silvia in the fray. "Oh, Cadvan, I think I know what evil brought you here." Unlike Indik and Malgorn, Silvia didn't doubt for a minute that Cadvan and Saliman were as much a prisoner as she was, and as such, she felt nothing but pity for them.

"No evil, just a foolish heart," he said in a ragged voice.

"You and I both know that to love is never wrong," she responded. "It may bring us great pain, but it's not wrong."

Cadvan started, hearing the approach of Likud again. "We'll see."

Likud returned, marching Saliman, Vaclal and Finlan before him. Saliman checked on the spot when he saw Silvia awake and Malgorn watching him, and he looked down guiltily. Cadvan retreated from his spot by Silvia and went to join Saliman. Vaclal was smiling a little sadly at Malgorn who had only been a First Bard for so short a time and was now going to pay the price. But Finlan, when they reached the center of the room, collapsed. Saliman moved quickly to his side, checking his pulse and temperature.

"What a worthless little whelp." Likud watched while Saliman whispered some words in the Speech. Finlan's color improved and he groaned, but his eyes didn't open. "Can he do nothing right? Shall we just dig his grave now?"

Cadvan glowered. "Let the poor man have some rest."

Likud spun on Cadvan, his hand twitching like he was going to strike him. "There is no rest here, not for the likes of you! He can rest when he's dead." Finlan groaned again and then sat upright, using Saliman's hand for aid. He clutched his head, a pounding headache rendering him almost incapable of speaking. Likud rolled his eyes. "Be at peace, Finlan, from here on it's just a ride south to Dagra."

The Bards from Innail looked up, eyes flashing. "So, your master has requested our presence?" Malgorn asked stiffly.

"_Your _master now, Malgorn of Innail." Likud paused a moment, glowering at Malgorn. "You look familiar, have I tried to kill you before?"

Malgorn brushed off the comment. "I'll die before I swear an oath to-"

"Oh, _shut up_," Likud said loudly, gesturing to the Bards behind him. "Is that the only thing you people say? You think Cadvan and Saliman didn't swear they'd die before taking their oaths? You think the oaf Finlan didn't offer himself up to my blade? You think Vaclal didn't decry my invasion? Each and everyone of them said the exact same thing, and each and everyone of them serves the Nameless One now. You are not different, you are not special. If anything, you are more like them than you know."

Cadvan made to intercede on Malgorn's behalf but Likud crossed the room and grabbed a handful of Silvia's long hair, jerking it so she was forced to look at his hideous face. "A pretty little wife who needs protection from the minions of the Dark. Will you surrender her to wolves, Malgorn? Will you let the Nameless One's men do as they please with her, watch while they use her and then kill her?"

Silvia twisted against his grip, trying to catch Malgorn's eyes. "Don't! I'm not worth that."

"Listen to her." Likud ran his free hand over her face, caressing her cheek. He pressed his lips against hers in a messy kiss. Silvia squirmed to get away and Malgorn cursed loudly, throwing all his weight against the rope. "You're worth it, Silvia," Likud assured her.

"Don't touch her," Malgorn ordered, glaring daggers at the Hull.

"And you really think your husband isn't going to give the Nameless One his Name?" Likud directed the question at Silvia. "He just went to pieces over a kiss."

Silvia could taste something that reminded her of blood on her lips. "I'm not afraid of what he'll do."

Likud raised an eyebrow. "Oh no? But what about what _you'll_ do? I've heard things Cadvan hasn't about his precious Maerad. She's not nearly as safe and tucked away as he thinks." Silvia's eyes widened and Likud's grin widened. "I pity her, what those men do to her, but perhaps you'll put an end to it?"

"You're lying," Silvia said numbly. "If the Nameless One broke his oath Cadvan could-"

"Do nothing," Likud finished. "His Name is still in the Nameless One's keeping. Perhaps if a member of the First Circle were to offer up a trade, though, maybe that would convince him to release the girl. You know where she grew up, you know what those men tried to do to her, and now…and now she'll learn."

"No!" Silvia cried and Likud shoved her back against the wall. "No, don't touch her!"

"Bit too late for that," observed Likud wryly, coming now to Malgorn. "She's beautiful, your wife. It's been a long time since I've desired a woman, but kissing her, I almost remember what it felt like."

Malgorn's face had gone white but his eyes were hard and cold. "If you lay a hand on her again I'll kill you."

Likud thought Malgorn was telling the truth. "I'll put more than a hand on her."

Malgorn lost control of his temper and a spark of White Fire glowed in his palm. It caught the ropes and they began to fray. Likud jerked back. "Idiots! Who tied them up?" and then threw out his hand, the force of his spell knocking Malgorn against the pillar and holding him there. "Cadvan, I'm going to whip you for that!"

Cadvan was smarting at his treatment of Silvia. "It's what you deserve."

Likud made a sound that sounded like teeth grounding together as a soldier ran forward to address Malgorn's bonds. "Speaking of whipping," the Hull growled, studying Malgorn closely, "that temper of yours might benefit from some."

Silvia, who had recovered from the Hull's kiss, looked horrified. "If you want him to survive to Dagra, you can't."

Likud glanced at her. "And you're a doctor, I suppose? A doctor who just happens to know how much pain her husband can tolerate before collapsing into death?"

"Don't get involved in this Silvia," Malgorn ordered sharply, eyeing the Hull closely. "Besides, there is no torment this Hull could bring against me that could undo me."

Likud found this remark rather interesting. "You'd be surprised what I'm capable of. The Nameless One ordered the First Bards be brought to him _intact_, but I don't see how a whipping would damage your mind. And, since you seem so sure of your own capabilities…" Likud turned to a solider nearby. "Bring me a whip, something with a good grip. I intend to use it thoroughly."

Malgorn's face had gone pale, but his eyes were defiant. "If I am to go to the Nameless One, then this is meaningless."

"We'll see how you feel after," Likud said, turning away and grinning widely at Cadvan. "Your friends are almost as stubborn as you. You should have spoken some sense to them before they came before me."

"You don't need to do this," Cadvan said urgently. "Malgorn is just trying to protect his wife."

"And now, he's going to pay for that privilege," Likud returned sweetly. "You two can commiserate on that fact once I'm done with him."

Cadvan's eyes moved from Likud to Saliman and finally to Malgorn. Malgorn was no fool, and when he saw the look on Cadvan's face, trepidation twisted his stomach. He'd meant his threats to Likud, but that didn't mean he wanted to be whipped. When the soldier returned with a whip curled around his arm like a black snake, Malgorn drew a sharp breath. Likud took it in hand, weighing the whip as if that would determine its value. He smiled, looking about the room at everyone.

"Have no fear, Malgorn, I'm not going to cut up your handsome face like I did Cadvan. I think your back will suit just fine." Malgorn hadn't taken his eyes from the whip and started when someone loosened his bonds so he could be turned about. Silvia gave a startled cry when the soldier ripped his tunic, exposing his back.

Malgorn pressed his face against the cool stone of the pillar, doing his best to concentrate on anything else. The room became painfully still and Malgorn quivered when Likud loosened his grip on the whip and it slapped the ground lazily. He shifted his gaze away from Silvia, to the shattered windows of the Singing Hall through which he could see the pale blue sky through a haze of smoke. He carefully set his teeth against each other, afraid he would bite his tongue off if it was in between. Behind him, Likud studied the contours of Malgorn's back like he was trying to memorize it or perhaps see where it was most vulnerable. Likud was pleased that the Bard had accrued an impressive array of bruises and cuts during his battle with the Dark, but this was going to be a nice addition.

When the whip cracked, Malgorn betrayed fear and flinched, clamping his eyes shut. A flash of red pain ran from his shoulder to his hip and he gasped raggedly. He tried to take a breath, but the second lash fell just as he inhaled and it came out as a sharp grasp. The Hull paused, and Malgorn breathed in, but the air escaped him when the third blow fell. He could feel something hot and wet dribble down his back, and Malgorn realized it was his blood. A cold calculating part of him knew it would take hundreds of stitches to close the wounds, but his thoughts were cut short by another two blows delivered in quick succession. His skin burned and felt oddly loose on his back. Likud glared at the Bard, furious he hadn't had the decency to scream or beg for it to stop. His arm swung back and he brought the whip down viciously, snarling when Malgorn slumped but didn't cry out.

"Would you like it to stop?" the Hull called. Cadvan and Saliman both glowered at the tender tone, like Likud was actually curious if Malgorn wished him to stop. "You just need to say so."

Malgorn, pinned against the pillar, had lost sensation in his legs. He wondered if he was just going to collapse unconscious from the pain. Abstractly, he considered that he had never been whipped before, at least not properly. His parents weren't Bards and, since he wasn't raised by the standards Bards kept for children, his father had taken a belt to him occasionally. But this was undoubtedly worse. He thought that the flesh would be torn entirely from his back at this rate.

Likud waited a moment to listen for Malgorn's response, but when none were forthcoming, he slashed the whip at the Bard again. This time, Malgorn's back arched and he gave a guttural scream. Likud purred with pleasure. "Lucky number seven. Not bad for a Bard!"

"Stop this!" Silvia demanded, thinking rightly that Malgorn was beyond pleading. "Stop this, he can't breath!"

"Oh no," Likud cried in mock horror. "Well, we can't have that. Here, hold this," he shoved the whip into Cadvan's unwilling hands and rushed over to Malgorn. Standing directly to his side, he scoured Malgorn's pale, sweaty face hungrily. "What's this, First Bard? Are you suddenly incapable of making words? I thought that was all you Bards did, prattle on and on about the Light and truth and love."

Malgorn spat out a mouth of blood. He'd bitten his lip clean through. He took a shaky breath. "The Light will have you."

"Oh, will it?" Likud whispered, leaning closer so his lips brushed Malgorn's ears. "Let me tell you a little secret, First Bard. This, what I've done to you, this is nothing. This is just the beginning of a long and painful existence you will have to bear. This is just you rapping on the door to enter. When you're in Dagra and the Nameless One is done with you and you're mine to play with, then we will begin. But this," Likud gestured to Malgorn's back, "this is just how we say hello. So, I ask again, _do you want me to stop_?"

Malgorn could taste bile. "You won't."

"I might show mercy if you're appropriately repentant," Likud offered. "Just say, please stop. That's all, just those words, tell me-tell the whole room-you want it stop. Malgorn, there is nothing to be gained by opposing me, you've already lost. Spare yourself pointless suffering." When Malgorn still said nothing, Likud pressed on. "Who will protect your wife if you're unconscious?"

It was a poor excuse because Silvia would defend herself, but Malgorn wanted it to stop. The numbness had left him now and Malgorn's entire body was on fire. His back felt like it had been shredded and his lungs ached when he breathed. He nodded his head slowly, but Likud smirked.

"You have to _say _it," he breathed. "Nice, and loud, for everyone to hear."

Malgorn opened his mouth but Likud vanished, trapezing back to his place. He grabbed the whip from Cadvan and held his arms wide. He looked expectantly around the room, smiling at the faces gone pale with fear. "Do you want me to stop, Malgorn?" he asked loudly and clearly.

Malgorn wasn't sure his voice would carry, but he managed to croak, "Yes."

Likud leaned closer, eyebrows raised in surprise. "Yes, _what_?"

"Yes, stop whipping me." Each word had to be ripped from his throat, he was in so much pain.

"That sounds like a command, not a request," Likud mused.

"Stop this!" Cadvan hissed, but Likud rounded on him, hand raised as if he were going to strike him.

"Keep your mouth shut rat."

Malgorn swallowed his blood and said again, "_Please_ stop whipping me."

Likud looked around the room, from the impassive faces of the soldiers, to the jeering faces of the Hulls, and the horrified faces of the Bards. He shrugged carelessly. "Well, since you ask so nicely." Likud tossed the whip aside and turned to the nearest Hull. "I think that was enough excitement for the day. Why don't we leave the Bards to each other's company and explore the spoils of victory?"

Cadvan and Saliman waited with bated breath while the Hulls departed, followed closely by the soldiers who closed and barred the doors. As soon as they were gone, Cadvan and Saliman rushed forward to loosen the bonds and help the other Bards down. Kelia was still unconscious and was laid carefully by Finlan. Indik needed support from Saliman as his leg had a gash in it. Silvia, though, needed no one, and as soon as Cadvan had freed her, she hurried to Malgorn, taking his face in her hands.

"You shouldn't have risen to his taunts, my love," she murmured, kissing him fiercely. "You should have let me deal with the Hull."

"I couldn't," Malgorn rasped.

"Can you hold him, Silvia?" Cadvan asked, loosening the rope. "He'll need someone to support him." Silvia nodded, never taking her hands or eyes away from Malgorn's face, and when Cadvan untied him, Malgorn staggered back but Silvia kept him upright. Cadvan came around and got his arm around Malgorn's hip and led him away to the other Bards.

"We'll need to clean the wounds," Silvia said, staring at his back fretfully. "He'll get an infection otherwise…" Her medically trained mind was trying to distract her with the herbs and alcohols they'd need, the bandages and threads and needles to keep the wounds closed.

"I'm not sure we'll come by much of that here," Saliman said darkly. He had trained as a healer before leaving Turbansk to study with Nelac and recognized the futility of trying to heal the injuries. "Will boiling water and bandages do?"

Silvia looked appalled. "Look at him! He needs stitches at the very least!"

Saliman didn't rise to her temper but kept his voice level. "I understand, but I doubt the Hulls are going to give us that. Can we wrap the wounds for now, keep changing the bandages until we can convince someone to give us supplies?"

Silvia studied Malgorn's slumped profile. He had slipped into unconsciousness, but the whip lashes were still dribbling blood down his back. They went deep, deep enough that even had she had the supplies and the energy and skill, he'd still scar. She worried that some of the more serious lashes had torn muscles in his back; if they had, he would suffer reduced mobility the rest of his life. His breath came in short, shallow gasps and Silvia suspected that even in sleep he was in pain, and she felt tears in her eyes. They didn't fall, by sheer will alone, but her sight blurred and her throat tightened. "I just want him to heal."

"He won't die," Cadvan said softly, sensing the extremity of her pain, and thought his words seemed hollow and pointless.

"No," Silvia agreed suddenly coming to herself. She began scouring the room for something to boil water in, ordering the other Bards to start a fire, and find any fabric that might be used as bandaging. After half an hour, Silvia had a tradition Turbanskian wine bowl set over the huge fire pit in the center of the room, steam rising steadily into the air as water bubbled. Cadvan and Saliman supported Malgorn as Silvia first cleaned the lashes then gently wrapped them in torn strips of an abandoned cloak. She carefully tied the ends and sat back.

"Someone will have to stay up with him in case he awakens. He'll be in pain," she hedged. She wanted to stay with him, but her face was drawn from exhaustion and her eyes were hazy. "I'll be able to keep watch the first few hours-"

"Leave it to us," Cadvan said, waving to himself, Saliman and Vaclal. "You should sleep. Should he awaken, we'll fetch you."

Silvia hesitated. "He'll need a healer."

"Then lucky I'm here," Saliman said, smiling just a little. "It's been a while, but I think I know my way around a few charms."

Vaclal snorted just a little. "I trained under Nelac my entire time in School, Saliman. Leave the healing to a healer."

Saliman's smiled broadened. "A challenge. Who can provide the best care to the injured? Whose patients will be the most restored come morning?"

Cadvan rolled his eyes and then waved Silvia aside. "You're not wrong that he should be watched at all times, and you'll have plenty of opportunity, but if you're planning to keep vigil over the next few days, you'll need rest now. Take it."

Silvia bowed her head. She would have liked to stay up, caressing Malgorn's face and kissing his brow. She would have liked to listen to Saliman and Vaclal verbally spar and take some humor in their jests. She would have liked to sit beside Cadvan and ask him about Maerad. But she was tired and she was scared and she was sad. She moved aside to where Kelia was sleeping and curled up on the floor beside her. She closed her eyes on the terrible vision before her and forced herself to relax and sink into sleep.

The other Bards stayed up long into the night, sharing whispered conversations. Saliman and Vaclal took turns checking Malgorn and washing and replacing his bandages. Though neither of them wanted to admit it, Silvia was right, he was going to need proper medical supplies if he was going to survive the injuries. Outside, the sounds of a conquered city drifted in: screams from innocents, howls from dog soldiers, and harsh, impassionate shouts from soldiers. A little after midnight, Vaclal pleaded exhaustion and slept. Saliman and Cadvan sat alone.

"This has been a dark day," Saliman said solemnly. "So long as I live, I will not forget this."

"I think that was the Nameless One's point," said Cadvan dryly. He was too tired of the war to care anymore. He felt callous and indifferent, and a part of him was scared he would be like this forever: utterly unfazed by devastation.

"Is it strange that I almost wish I had stayed in Dagra?" Saliman wondered. "For all the torment I would have endured at the hands of the Nameless One, I wish I would have been there than had to see this."

"That's not surprising in the least." Cadvan glanced at Malgorn, checking his pulse. This man had been taken captive because of Cadvan, his blood was on Cadvan's hands. "I think Malgorn is running a fever."

Saliman felt his forehead. "It's not surprising. He has an infection from the injuries. We'll have to try and convince Likud to give us antibiotics tomorrow."

"I'll do it," Cadvan sighed. "We all know I'm his favorite."

Saliman chuckled. "You certainly have a way with him. With all our little Dark acquaintances, really. I think the Nameless One might actually be fond of you, if such a thing were possible."

"Only for what I can give him," Cadvan amended. "But he's made very clear in the past that I'm merely one more tool in his hand."

Saliman sighed loudly. "How do you think Hem and Maerad are faring?"

Cadvan turned away to hide the frown on his face. He spent most of his time now thinking of Maerad, and his thoughts were always dark. "We have done everything he asked. They must be just as we left them."

"It'll have been at least three months by the time we return, if we're making good time on the journey south. Three months alone in Dagra with only the Nameless One for company."

"They had each other," Cadvan countered quickly.

Saliman shifted in his seat. "Have you given any thought to what happens to us when we get back? Or why the Nameless One seems so keen to have the First Circles brought to him alive?"

"I've tried no to, but I can only guess something foul. Think of it, he's gathering the most powerful Bards on the continent. If he is going to use them to work some spell, it'll be a mighty thing indeed."

"What more could he possibly want?" Saliman spat. "Is the world and everything in it not enough?"

"No," Cadvan said shortly.

Saliman asked Cadvan if he would watch Malgorn for the next few hours, as he was tired and guessed his talents in healing would be needed the next day. Cadvan shooed him away and returned to his vigil beside Malgorn. It wasn't until the very late hours of night that Malgorn stirred weakly and groaned and Cadvan snapped to attention.

"Malgorn, my friend," he said in a low voice, feeling his temperature and rubbing his shoulder. "Malgorn, are you awake?"

"That or I'm dead and this is a dream," he said hoarsely.

"You're not dead," Cadvan assured him, smiling faintly. Malgorn reached up and rubbed his face. When his eyes opened they were bright with pain and, Cadvan thought, fever. "You've proven yourself quite impossible to kill. Stumped the commander of the Black Army himself."

Malgorn blinked owlishly. "Stumped him? He's all but torn me apart. By the Light, it hurts, Cadvan."

Cadvan bowed his head. "Tomorrow morning, we'll get antibiotics and needle and gut to stitch you up. This won't last, Malgorn, I promise."

He breathed heavily, like it was struggle. "Of course, you will, you heard the Hull, I must live to reach Dagra. Can't have me dying on the road from septicemia."

"I'd be more frightened of what Silvia will do to us if we let any more harm befall you. She cleaned and dressed your wounds herself, and then sat by your side until she almost collapsed from exhaustion and even then, we were warned that if you woke up, we should get her."

"Not yet," Malgorn said sharply, though his face softened at the thought of Silvia tending his wounds. "Cadvan, I need you to promise me something. I need you to swear you'll protect her if I-"

"Don't," Cadvan quickly cut him off. "You're not going to die."

"No, probably not, but I'm in no position to protect her. It's a long road from here to there and I want to know she'll get there safely." Malgorn grimaced. "She's a strong woman, but I fear part of her will break over our defeat, and I don't know that she'll be able to defend herself should one of the soldiers come after her."

"The Hulls have strict orders," Cadvan reminded him.

"It's not the Hulls I fear." Malgorn wouldn't say more, but Cadvan had a fairly good idea. "Please, Cadvan, consider it return for capturing me in the street. _Please_. This journey will go easier on me if I know she's with you."

Cadvan ran a hand through his hair. "I'll have a hard time keeping her away from you."

"It's fine. Just-just during the day, have her ride with you, and keep her in your sight, and-"

Cadvan held up his hand, silencing his friend. "I'll do this. Silvia won't thank me for being parted from you, but I'll keep her with me if they take you."

Malgorn shifted, but the movement aggravated his back and he moaned. "This will be a painful journey, and there is no soft bed at the end. The Light see me through this."

"We will," Cadvan said passionately, clutching Malgorn's hand tightly and holding his eye. "_We _willsee you safely through."


	25. Chapter 25

Chapter Twenty-Five

Cadvan woke the next morning to find Silvia awake and tending Malgorn nervously. After Cadvan had sworn to protect Silvia, he had roused Saliman to sit with Malgorn. Over the night, it appeared that his fever had increased dramatically. He lay, curled on the cool floor, breathing raggedly, shaking uncontrollably. Cadvan saw the concern on Silvia's face at once and understood that Malgorn's condition had deteriorated. Saliman was kneeling by her, speaking in a low voice, gesturing to the bandages which were stained with blood and sweat.

"You can smell the infection," Saliman said softly, pulling back the bandages. "Hot water isn't going to take care of this."

Silvia worried her lower lip. "Do you think it's a blood infection?"

"I wouldn't be surprised," Saliman said. "Those lashes are just open, festering wounds. We can try to drive the infection from his blood, but I'm not sure I have the strength now to do it."

"I'll do it," she said sternly, more to herself than Saliman.

Malgorn stirred as Cadvan joined them, and he pitched forward and retched. Since there was nothing in his stomach, only stomach bile came up, and it burned his throat and nostrils. "Silvia?"

"Malgorn," she breathed, kneeling by his face and lifting it up to hers. She used the hem of her shift to wipe the vomit from his mouth. "Look at me, love, just look at me." She smiled faintly, running her hands through his hair. "I'm going to make you better."

"I know you will," he said weakly, and then slumped back on the ground.

"I'm going to ask Likud for medical supplies," Cadvan said, kneeling beside the others. "I can ask for antibiotics."

"Why would the Hull help?" Silvia asked, glancing between Cadvan and Saliman.

"He and I have something of a rapport," said Cadvan with a twisted smile. "Besides, Malgorn needs to be alive when we get to Dagra. Even Likud isn't going to challenge the Nameless One, not after the fallout with Imank."

Malgorn groaned, eyes fluttering open. "I suppose I should consider myself lucky?"

"Don't speak," Silvia admonished gently. She pressed a cup to his lips. "Take water. Try and sleep."

"Silvia and I will try to fight the poison off, Cadvan, you should go looking for Likud. Even with healing, I think he will need medicine." Saliman took Malgorn's hand and held it tightly and noted how hot it was. "The sooner the better, I think."

Cadvan stood up, brushing dirt from his pants and heading for the door as Silvia and Saliman began the process of healing. As he went, he passed Vaclal, who was checking Finlan over; their eyes met briefly and Cadvan noted how bleak he looked. Finlan must not have been faring well. The doors to the Singing Hall were locked and Cadvan pounded on them until two soldiers loosened the bolts and entered. They eyed Cadvan uncomfortably. For all the times they had seen the Hulls abuse him, the rumor that spread around the camp was that he was a mage of great power, controlled only by the will of their unseen master. He was dangerous as far as they were concerned.

"I need to speak to Likud," Cadvan said stiffly. When neither of them registered the request, Cadvan, shook his head. "I need to speak to Likud, to the captain of the Black Army. Bring him here!"

The soldiers stepped back, eyeing Cadvan like he might suddenly ravage and attack them. One of the ran off while the other stayed, guarding the door at a safe distance from Cadvan. After a few minutes, the soldier returned, Likud in tow looking thunderous. When he saw Cadvan standing on the step, his eyes flashed.

He took the steps two at a time and grabbed Cadvan by his neck, dragging him into the hall. "Who do you think you are, calling for me? Sending _my men_ on errands?"

Cadvan kept his composure, ignoring the feel of the Hull's hands on his bare skin. He caught his eye. "Malgorn is sick, the lashes are infected. He needs medicine and proper bandages and gut and needle."

Likud blinked. "Why do I care what the Bard needs? Perhaps his doctor wife can attend him?"

"He has blood poisoning," Cadvan returned. "Even if we drive the infection out, if we don't seal the wound, he'll keep getting sick, and last I heard, the Nameless One wanted First Bards alive."

"Don't presume to tell me what my orders are," Likud hissed, but Cadvan saw his eyes move to where Silvia and Saliman were bent over Malgorn. He tossed Cadvan aside and stormed over to the Bards. Silvia and Saliman paused in their healing, startled to find the Hull towering over them.

"You idiot Bard," Likud spat, eyes glowing. "Are you so weak you can't even survive a lashing?"

"He needs stitches," Silvia said staunchly.

"I didn't ask you a question," Likud said coldly and pushed the two Bards aside to inspect Malgorn on his own. "Draw the poison out and you can have your needle and gut."

"He'll need medicine-"

"If you do your job properly, he won't," Likud said shortly, standing up.

Saliman's temper prickled at that, as if it were their fault Malgorn was in such poor condition. "If you didn't feel the need to torture every Bard that came into your care, we wouldn't need to do a job."

"Saliman," Likud said, turning his back on him to leave the room, "I would think that a man with a lovely young woman currently in keeping would be more sensible about how he addresses me. If you speak to me like that again, I'm going to slice a few of her fingers off."

Saliman paled. "Leave Hekibel out of it."

"Then keep your mouth shut," Likud said flippantly, heading for the door. "As much as I enjoy a little sport, you Bards are starting to wear me out."

Saliman glowered but said nothing. Silvia and Indik looked particularly shocked by his lack of response: the Saliman they knew didn't simply allow Hulls to taunt him. But, then, the Saliman they knew didn't bear the Sick Moon branded into his wrist. He returned his attention to Malgorn and redoubled his efforts to quell the blood poisoning.

"Malgorn will be alright," Cadvan said, taking a seat by Indik and watching the healing. "Silvia isn't going to let him come to harm."

Indik was quiet a moment, considering the Bard beside him. He had always liked Cadvan, even after he'd heard the stories of his broken youth, Indik had found him a true servant of the Light. But now…now Cadvan had betrayed them and it was hard to reconcile who he was and what he had done. He swallowed and said in a stiff voice, "It is hard for me to see Malgorn like this. How have you managed this entire time?"

Cadvan glanced sharply at Indik, his tone wasn't accusatory, but it wasn't necessarily friendly. "It's not that it's easy, but there isn't much choice."

Indik grunted. "I don't understand what happened, Cadvan," he finally said. "Have you ever asked yourself how it came to this? How did we go from what should have been a glorious end to this miserable existence? Don't you ever wonder?"

"We served the Light-" Cadvan's words were cut off by a sudden cry as Malgorn arched off the floor and screamed. When he slumped on the stone again, Silvia and Malgorn sat back looking exhausted but satisfied. "We served the Light as best we could."

"And look where that got us," Indik snapped, gesturing to Malgorn. "How is this fair?"

"I ask myself that often. It's not," Cadvan agreed, cringing a little at Malgorn. "I try to remind myself to have hope. Maerad thinks there is something wrong with the spell the Nameless One made, and perhaps that it will be his undoing."

Indik shrugged. "And how long will that take I wonder?"

Cadvan didn't say anything, but the thought of waiting for the Nameless One to die made his stomach twist in knots. The return to Dagra loomed nearer and he wondered what new horrors would be there when he did. "Perhaps it is just our fate to wait and see."

"That's certainly a miserable outlook," Indik said, and Cadvan heard a smile in his voice. "Speaking of miserable looking things."

Likud had returned, Hekibel following him at a distance, and she was carrying bandages and needle and gut. Silvia started when she saw the other woman and felt a smile tremble on her lips. Saliman stood at once, tense as a hunting hound at seeing her so close to a Hull.

"And see how generous I am," Likud announced ironically to the Bards. "I bring medicine for the sick, I even bring love for the heartbroken. Do not call me cruel."

None of the Bards felt like pointing out the obvious role Likud played in their suffering and instead, accepted the medicinal supplies without comment. This seemed to annoy Likud, who turned about, looking from face to face, and then rolled his eyes expansively before leaving them to their devices.

"You're alive!" Silvia cried, drawing Hekibel into a tight embrace. "When I heard the news of Lirigon I wasn't sure…"

Hekibel smiled weakly. "It was a near thing, but Saliman found me before I could come to any harm."

Silvia shot a warm look at Saliman and then took the needle and gut. "We have need of these at once. Malgorn is in poor shape." Hekibel's eyes widened and she darted a glance at Cadvan. He stared back, surprised, and shook his head blankly. Silvia saw the exchange. "That Hull thought to punish him, his back it torn up. But perhaps you can help me? I'll need an extra pair of clever hands."

Hekibel followed Silvia dutifully to Malgorn, and she flinched at his condition. His back was, indeed, torn asunder. Silvia woke Malgorn gently, rubbing his face and groaned. When he saw Hekibel peering down at him, his face softened. "So, the Light still shines on us. You survived Lirigon."

"And you survived Innail," she said kindly, kneeling beside him. Silvia was preparing the needle and speaking in a low voice to Saliman, both their faces were drawn and serious. "Are you much of a healer?"

"Not even close, but Silvia knows her way around these things. Good thing, too, or I'd be-" he sputtered into a cough and Hekibel pushed his hair off his brow. "I'd be in trouble."

"You'll be in trouble if you don't heal," Hekibel said lightly, trying to stay cheerful. "Silvia might take it as a personal insult."

Malgorn chuckled. "Aye, you're right there." He noticed Saliman and Silvia approaching and grimaced. "I suppose you need to close me up?"

Silvia sank down beside him and helped him to sit up. Hekibel was alarmed when she saw how weak he was. "If we don't, you'll get another infection. It was a close thing before."

"I know but…" Malgorn glanced around the room. "I don't suppose there's anything I can take for the pain?"

"No, my love, but Saliman and I spoke and we'll both try to work as quickly as possible to stitch." This didn't seem to ease Malgorn at all. "It'll be over in the half the time if we work together."

"And hurt twice as much," he said deliberately.

"We're both fast," Saliman assured, holding up his own needle which had already been strung. "You'll be all the better for it after."

Malgorn drew a deep, shuddering breath. "Right, well, at least give me something to bite while you work."

It took a moment, but they found a shattered piece of timber and Hekibel wrapped it in a shred of her dress. Malgorn bit down firmly and sat up as straight as he could so they could remove the bandages. When Hekibel saw the mess of torn flesh and blood underneath, she gasped, earning a satirical look from Malgorn. Hekibel snatched up his hand, gripping it tightly as they unwound and discarded the bandages.

Saliman paused before setting to stitching. "You may want to sit upright and lean against something. If you're on your stomach and you vomit it'll just pool everywhere. You could choke on it."

Hekibel doubted she would be strong enough to support Malgorn and looked around for someone to hold him. After a beat, Cadvan and Indik joined them and Malgorn leaned on Cadvan's shoulder while Hekibel held his hand tight. Silvia reached around once before they started and turned his chin to face her. They held each other's gaze for a long moment and Silvia planted a kiss on his forehead.

"It'll be over soon, my love," Silvia said softly and Malgorn shivered.

Silvia and Saliman set to work on Malgorn's back. It was a long process, even with two Bard working to close the wounds. Malgorn tried to stay still, but he twitched as the needles pierced his skin, and when Silvia pulled the first line of stitches closed, Malgorn whined into the gag and pressed against Cadvan. Silvia's hands paused but Saliman hissed at her to continue. It didn't get easier after the first whip lash was stitched; the skin around the others was ragged and blistering red, and touching it only inflamed them more. They had managed to get through four lashes before Malgorn moaned and collapsed against Cadvan, he was shaking and his grip on Hekibel's hand caused her bones to grind together.

"It's over half done," Saliman said tonelessly as he set to work on the next injury. "Try to relax, if you move, it takes longer."

Cadvan saw Malgorn roll his eyes and almost laughed as they continued with the stitches. Malgorn made an effort to stay still, and though his grasp on Hekibel tightened and his dependence on Cadvan's support increased, they managed to get through the rest of the stitches smoothly.

"It was brilliantly done," Silvia said, taking Malgorn's face in her hands, pulling the gag out and kissing him passionately. "You did so well."

Malgorn's lips trembled but he managed a faint smile. "I think the praise belongs to you."

Saliman, who was unrolling bandages, glanced up at that and caught Hekibel's eye with a wry look. Silvia glanced up as Malgorn joined them, "We'll wrap the injuries now, then you can rest."

As soon as Saliman had finished attending him, Malgorn pleaded exhaustion and fell asleep, his head in Silvia's lap. She ran her hands through his hair, twisting curls around her fingers, until his breathing evened out and he slept. The other Bards moved away, acutely aware of the intimacy and privacy the moment called for, and joined Vaclal and Finlan and Kelia, who had finally awoken after some tending from Vaclal.

"Malgorn will be alright?" Kelia asked as soon as they sat down. She was watching Silvia closely, studying the movement of her hand in his hair. "He had a bad color about him for most of that."

"We had nothing to numb pain during the stitches," Saliman said heavily, rubbing his hands together as if to bring them to life. "I imagine that hurt fiercely."

Kelia scowled. "That Hull did it on purpose."

"Most likely," agreed Cadvan, "but regardless, he had to get stitches or he would have died from infection."

"He'll survive the journey to Dagra though?" asked Kelia softly. "If this is how Likud treats First Bards, I'd be worried-"

"He'll live," Saliman said sternly, noticing how pale Finlan had gone. "The Nameless One wants the First Circle alive, the First Bards doubly so. Likud isn't going to risk his master's displeasure over that."

Kelia glanced sharply at Indik. "What happens once we get there? What will he want?"

Cadvan and Saliman shared a quick, uncomfortable look. "It's hard to tell," Cadvan finally said. "The Nameless One doesn't make us privy to his plans."

"But you've been," Indik urged. "You know what he wants."

"I know what he wanted with _me_," said Saliman, "but his interests in you will be very different. I can only begin to imagine his interest in the most powerful Bards in all of Annar the seven kingdoms."

These words settled uncomfortably over the gathered Bards. It was easy to forget, when the world around you was falling apart, that your life still had value beyond the service you could provide your people. They each reflected for a moment on their own strengths and what Sharma might want with them. As if to push away the thought, Indik began an involved conversation with them about the populations of Bards being sent to Dagra, the size of the country, and the ability of the Nameless One to house them all. Though bleak, it was a relief to discuss the fates of others instead of themselves, and they kept on the topic until the night came in.

When the morning rose coolly the next day, a soldier arrived to tell them that they should prepare for travel. Silvia flitted about Malgorn, checking his stitches, his bandages, his eyes for sign of fever. She was pleasantly surprised to find he could walk without aggravating his back too much, and his fever hadn't returned. His face was still pale, though, and he eyed the Hulls warily when the stepped out of the great hall that morning to meet their escort.

Likud was seated on a horse, smiling with ironic mirth at the Bards of the First Circle. "And good morning," Likud said graciously, glancing from face to face. "I see you all look ready for a day of travel."

That was a matter of opinion, as the Bards of Innail were mostly without proper clothes. After their defeat, they had been stripped down to their light trousers and tunics, which would provide little protection against the elements. All of them but Indik had lost their shoes. Finlan, though recovered from the summoning of the wight, now limped as if he'd been injured in battle and Vaclal had to support him. They were, overall, a ragtag assortment.

"We've procured some horses for you," Likud continued in a bright voice. "No need to thank us, of course. It only seemed right that the First Circle go proudly before their people."

Likud's _procurement_ of horses was really two horses, both looking nervous and flighty. Malgorn sighed and carefully mounted a skinny mare. She was clearly not reared by Bards: her mane and tale hung in limp dirty strands and her coat was patchy and flea bitten. She seemed to have something of a limp, and when Malgorn gestured for Silvia to join him, she threw her head back in protest.

"This horse can't support two people," Malgorn said stoutly, rubbing between the poor beast's ears. "I doubt she'll be able to take me all the way."

Likud eyes flicked over the mare. "Then Silvia can walk."

"Barefoot?" Malgorn demanded, but Cadvan came forward, leading Darsor.

"She'll ride with me. Darsor can certainly carry two back to Dagra. He's done once already." Cadvan nodded encouragingly to Silvia. "Let me help you into the saddle.'

"I'll walk beside Malgorn," Silvia demurred.

"You'll ride with Cadvan and not cut your feet to pieces on the road," Malgorn said stiffly. Silvia opened her mouth to protest but he shot her a dark look. "Silvia, we're all going to the same place together. You can ride beside me."

She bit her lip, but the thought of walking to Dagra wasn't appealing. She scrambled up on Darsor and Cadvan swung himself up behind her. "We'll ride close to Malgorn," he said in her ear. "You'll have him in your sight the whole way, I promise."

Silvia felt entirely ungraceful, sitting like a small girl before an adult, her hair in a mess around her, her bare feet bouncing off Darsor's flanks. "I want him in my sight at all times. There's no telling what Likud will do if he's gone for even a moment."

Cadvan obligingly pulled Darsor up beside Malgorn's mare. Malgorn smiled sheepishly at her. "We could hold hands the whole way if we wanted."

Around them, the others were taking their mounts and settling into the saddle. Saliman had once more taken Hekibel up with him, and she sat behind him, arms wrapped tightly around his waist. Indik had taken the other spare horse, another model of poor care, and had Kelia holding his waist. Likud smirked at the Bards in his care.

"Let us go. This place stinks of the Light and Barding," he spat and kicked his horse into a gallop.

* * *

Maerad was sitting in her room, watching the young girls in the garden below. They were playing some game: one of the girls had a scarf tied around her eyes, arms flailing about as she reached out desperately to catch one of the others. Occasionally, the blinded girl would call out "Deadman!" and the others would cry back with "Bluff!" leading her here and there as they scattered around the yard. She watched until the girl with the blindfold tumbled into one of her friends, who shrieked like she'd been attacked by a wer, then both fell back giggling. They exchanged roles and the new blindfolded girl spun in a few circles while her friends cried out "bluff" over and over. Maerad turned back to the letter she was writing.

Though she'd been told to write to Crestor, she was penning another letter to Cadvan, but her words had run dry. She considered the letter so far.

_**Cadvan,**_

_** I heard of the fall of Lirigon. I know it does the tragedy disservice, but I am sorry for your loss. I wish I could have seen the city before it was lost. You were going to take me there when this war was over, do you remember? I would have liked very much to see the place you grew up. I fear that many things that were once beautiful and full of Light will fall in this time. If you were here, perhaps I could offer you more comfort, but-**_

And here, Maerad had stopped. She had no idea what would comfort Cadvan at such a time. Her words rung hollow and her thoughts seemed sluggish and almost indifferent. How was she supposed to tell him, that she too had lost her home and that, after seeing the ruins of Pellinor, she thought that maybe she understood the bitter, empty feeling that formed in the pit of one's stomach? How could she say she understood the stark reality of seeing a beautiful city in ruins was like a blow to the stomach, a force that twisted her insides until she'd wanted to retch? That she could empathize with the desolation of suddenly being alone? A letter was a poor medium to convey such thoughts.

She traced the words thinking of Cadvan; she could picture his face, his gentle smile, his fierce blue eyes. _I'm sorry you had to see that, _she thought desolately as the cry of "deadman" floated in her window. _You didn't deserve to see that. _

In the hall, she heard the approach of fast footsteps, the swish of rich fabric on the floor. She hurriedly tucked the letter out of the sight and pulled out the one she had received from Crestor just a few days ago. There was a brief knock on the door, but it swung forward before Maerad could answer and admitted Lyla.

"Some people wait to enter," Maerad observed dryly, turning around

"Some people rise and greet their superiors," Lyla said sharply, looking Maerad up and down. She was still dressed in a silk nightgown, her hair still piled up in a messy bun. "You look like a mess and we have guests coming soon."

Maerad blinked. "I won't see that boy," she said firmly. "I won't be in the same room as him. He doesn't have a right to me."

Lyla sighed, closing the door to the room. "I know you find his behavior distasteful, but it's not your choice. He's requested your company and you're going to give it. Mama Lena said she doesn't care if he gropes you."

Maerad's cheeks grew hot. "She doesn't care, does she? It's fine if some man has his hands on me so long as she gets her money?"

"That's our job," Lyla said evenly. "I won't let him have you, but you're going to continue entertaining him as a suitor. Now, put on a dress and let your hair down. I want to see you before you greet him. And make sure to wear the cloak he offered you!"

Maerad scowled and crossed to her wardrobe looking for a gown in the least flattering colors: a yellow gown with blue lacing. She realized quickly, though, that it didn't matter what she wore, all the gowns were cut to put her figure on display. Frustrated, she let down her hair and brushed it through until the strands gleamed in thick curls. When Lyla inspected her, she seemed pleased.

"Yellow is such a cheerful color. He will think you are celebrating the victories in the North." She pulled Maerad's hair forward so it hung over her shoulders. "You ought to wear flowers or ribbons in your hair to show your support."

"I don't support it," Maerad said through clenched teeth. "If I could, I would wear black and mourn."

"Well, you can't," she said simply. "And don't look so glum. His father is a slaver, remember, and will most likely have interest in the returning captives. It does not do to insult his family's business."

"Business?" Maerad laughed bitterly. "Their business is built on the backs of innocent lives-"

Lyla grabbed Maerad's chin, forcing her to look into her eyes. "Don't you think I know that? Don't you think I'm familiar with the reality? I'm saying that this man makes his living that way, and if he is to support you, then your money comes from slavery. So, if he brings the topic up, smile, agree and ask polite, intelligent questions. I don't want to see a frown on your face."

Maerad's lips trembled, an insult ready, but she knew there was no point in fighting. She forced her face into a smile. "I'll behave if he does," she bit out.

Lyla placed her hand on the small of Maerad's back and led her forcefully out of the room. "You can wait in the garden for him. Try looking innocent and young, he'll like that."

_Though I might not be innocent, I am young, _Maerad thought ironically.

In the garden, the girls were still running circles around each other. "Deadman" continued to echo around the small courtyard and Maerad shivered as she took a place under a tree in the shade. She watched the girls jealously, for they were still too young to be of interest to men and spent their days in lessons. One the girls paused in her running to studying Maerad and smiled faintly, but Maerad wasn't feeling very generous and stared back. As the girl went back to her game, Maerad shifted her attention inward.

_I suppose it can't be long now before Cadvan and Saliman return, _she thought hopefully. _Lirigon fell almost two weeks ago. Innail would be close behind. _She cringed at the thought of Innail destroyed. _My time in this miserable place is almost over. I'll go back to the dark tower and Hem and Cadvan. _

She hadn't thought much of Hem in the months since she'd been sent to the brothel. Now, she wondered what had happened to him in the close company of Sharma. Maerad was sure that if he'd died, she would have known, and she was suspicious that Sharma couldn't kill either of them, but it didn't exactly make her rest easy. The last time she'd seen Hem was as Sharma dragged him away on the end of a chain. Assuming he was alive, he probably wasn't in good condition. She turned her attention back to the children running in the yard and envied them. While it was true that these girls would grow up to be nothing more than mistresses for rich men, their lives were not going to be shadowed by the Dark.

_It's not their fault, but it's still not fair, _she thought, uncomfortable with her own bitter opinions.

After a time, she heard Lyla's voice coming from the house and knew that Crestor was there, and she was bringing him to Maerad. She drew a deep breath and arranged herself into a graceful, almost carefree position with her back against the tree for support. She opened up a book and let his sit open on her lap, studying the words thoughtfully. Maerad knew how she would look when Crestor came out: intelligent, elegant and a little playful.

"How now, mistress Maerad?" Crestor's voice echoed across the yard and Maerad stirred, looking up. Crestor was coming across the grass dressed handsomely in dark blue and gold. The young girls dispersed like a flock of birds at the sight of a man and rushed to stand in the doorway, spying on the two.

Maerad peered up as his shadow fell across her. "Crestor."

He smiled brightly, eyes gleaming at the sight of her looking up at him. "You're reading? What does a beautiful woman have to read about? Surely, you should be spending the day relaxing in the sun or playing with your friends."

Maerad's smile was narrow. "Reading is relaxing." She had thought her chipped words would alert him to her mood, but Crestor seemed indifferent. He sat beside her and took the book from her hands without comment.

"This is a history," he said mildly. "No poetry for the songbird?"

_The Light only knows what poetry is like in this place._ Maerad shrugged. "I thought it best to educate myself a little on this country. If I am to live here, I might as well know a little of its foundation."

Crestor flicked through the book. "You can always just ask me. I've spent enough time pouring over books during my school years."

"I enjoy the pursuit of knowledge," Maerad returned firmly.

"Your eyes will go bad trying to read this." Crestor tucked the book into a pocket in his cloak and stood up, offering Maerad a hand. She briefly considered shoving him away but thought better of it and allowed him to help her up. "What would you do if you couldn't play your music anymore because you'd ruined your eyes on silly books?"

"One hardly needs eyes to play music. I know my lyre better than I know the back of my hand."

"I hope so!" Crestor said, delighted. "I brought my own instrument today and I thought we could play a piece together."

"Perhaps tonight, but, as you said, I should be out enjoying the sun." She flashed him a look, so see if he might leave her be, but he was smiling as he considered her words.

"Then we shall eat and drink out here, and I will tell you of my country. That way, you need not lose the sun or your eyes."

_Clever enough to always get what he wants, _Maerad thought to herself, and hurried to the kitchen to find food and small ale.

Tucked in the corner of the court yard, Maerad laid out their meal on a stone bench. Crestor watched her slice bread and place cheese and meat in generous helpings on either side of the plate. He licked his lips as she poured ale into cups, watching her hands balance the weight of the jug. He sat back to admire her when she lifted her own glass as in toast to him.

"And do what do we toast?" Maerad asked.

"Victory," Crestor said seriously. "For I've just heard that the army has announced the north conquered and is already returning."

Maerad almost dropped her cup. "They've won? Innail has fallen?"

Crestor eyed her speculatively. "I'm not sure what Innail is, but the ravens have already returned saying that the cities are captured and the slaves marching back with the army. Some are expected this very day."

"But how did it happen?" Maerad asked impatiently. "Were the opposing forces completely overwhelmed?"

"So it's said," Crestor said cheerfully, taking a long draw on his ale. "Cities burned, enemies slaughtered, the spoils of war returning here. The army should be back in a month or so. The city will celebrate."

Though she knew it had been bound to happen, Maerad felt herself her cold. Innail had been destroyed and its people slaughtered. Her thoughts went first to Silvia, who would have undoubtedly been at the front lines, defending her city. She wondered if Silvia's place on the First Circle condemned her or saved her, and even if she had been spared, what would happen to her once she was brought to Dagra? Maerad gripped her mug tighter, trembling.

"In less than a month the army will return?"

"Already contingents have been coming back. My father and I came up to the city to see the slave they're brought back."

"From where?" Maerad asked sharply.

"I haven't the slightest notion," Crestor said slowly. His brow furrowed. "It's a bit frustrating, to be honest. Some of them, we can make offers on, but others, the captains of the army say are not for sale. They say that some of the slaves must remain in Dagra."

_They must be Bards, _Maerad mused. _You can't send Bards as slaves to normal men and women. _"And have you seen them?"

Crestor laughed loudly. "Are you thinking of becoming a slaver, Maerad? Why such interest in the prisoners?"

Maerad seethed. Surely, Crestor realized she was from the north, and that she might have friends and family who were brought back? "I'm interested in the war."

"I see." He smiled at her around his cup. "Well, this part of the war is almost over. The cities are ours and the soldiers return home to celebrations. A new age is opening up before the people of Den Raven. Who's to say? Perhaps I will go north and start anew there. Perhaps I'll take you as my guide."

Maerad placed the cup down gently. "Mama Lena would have to decide that."

"I know it, and I've half a mind to speak with her about tonight." He finished his mug and placed his hand on Maerad's knee. "I would take you to all your favorite places, I would let you see all the things you've lost." His voice was low and Maerad tensed, ready to flee.

"I think it would make me too sad," she said stiffly.

"Then I will take you to new places," he said firmly, moving closer so their legs bumped. Maerad glanced around the yard and found that they were, once again, completely alone. She could feel the heat radiating off his body, the intensity of his stare resting on her face, her arms, her fluttering pulse at her throat. "You need to trust me to do right by you."

"My lord," Maerad said clearly. "I do trust you, but I am in service to this house and I will only leave if Mama Lena allows it. It has absolutely nothing to do with you."

Those last words were cutting, and Crestor's face darkened and his hand on her knee tightened. "You make your bed where you are ordered? It matters not whose bed then?"

"That's not what I said," Maerad said coldly, catching his eye. She wouldn't be bullied by some idiot boy, not when she was a Bard, not when she had faced Sharma himself and lived to tell the tale. "I told you the truth. If you don't like it, you're free to leave or seek the comforts and pleasures of a different young woman. I don't hold you to an oath."

The implied meaning of those words was, of course, that Crestor couldn't seek the comforts of other women as he was the youngest son of a lord and so had little to offer. "You ought to consider your words carefully, mistress Maerad. I am not someone to be trifled with."

"Neither am I," Maerad returned with icy politeness. "Take your hand off my knee, I've not given you leave to touch me."

"I don't need your leave." He jerked her forward so Maerad was inches from his face. He leaned forward and kissed her and Maerad withered in his grasp. She felt his host breath on her face and neck and her fingers began to burn as White Fire sprung to life in her. Her hand clamped in a ball, ready to strike him in the stomach but a trilling laugh filled the air and Crestor pulled away regretfully.

"They're out here somewhere, I'm sure," Lyla said, leading none other than Mama Lena into the garden.

Maerad jumped to her feet, grateful for any distraction that would end her time with Crestor. "Madam."

She looked between Maerad and Crestor with hawk-like ferocity. One of her dark eyebrows arched ironically. "I need to speak with Maerad," she said by way of apology to Crestor. "It won't be long, perhaps an hour. You are more than welcome to wait, but I understand if business calls you elsewhere."

Maerad wished he would leave, but Crestor said politely, "I'll stay and finish this meal. Maerad has promised me a song this evening."

Mama Lena tipped her head slightly. "As you'll have it. Lyla, stay here and give our guest some company. Maerad, come."

Not deigning to farewell Crestor, Maerad swept off after the madam. They walked in silence back into the house and to Mama Lena's private study. It was a spacious room, the walls muffled by the books and ledgers that lines the walls. Comfortable armchairs were arranged before a small hearth, but Maerad was led to a large wood desk and directed to a hard chair. She sat, watching as Mama Lena poured herself a glass of something dark and relaxed back into her chair. She surveyed Maerad with keen interest.

"Lyla's worked a miracle with you," she observed. "You could almost pass for a lady."

Maerad looked out the window, her temper high and a sharp response on her lips. "Give her a trophy."

"Don't be smart, it doesn't become you." Mama Lena sipped her glass. "Crestor and his father have made a handsome offer for you. I was surprised."

Maerad paled. "I thought we'd agreed that I was to go untouched."

"We have. Do not worry your pretty little head over it." She placed the glass down and removed a letter with a scribbled message. "You lord is expected back from this war soon. In the next few weeks, it says. Your time with us is coming to its end."

Relief washed over her like a wave. Cadvan could not have found a better time than now. "I'm leaving?"

"Not yet, so don't look so excited." She looked Maerad over carefully, considering the girl for a long moment. Her face softened imperceptibly. "Tell me, girl, do you really want to return to that place?"

Maerad frowned. What sort of game was the madam playing? "Of course, I want to go back."

"I find that a little hard to believe. I saw the mark on your chest, I know you were not kept well while you were there." She sat back, waiting for Maerad to speak. Maerad, though, was confused and remained quiet. "Answer to me honestly, are you afraid?"

Maerad thought of what waited back in the dark tower: the Hulls, the monsters of the Dark, Sharma himself and his vengeful malice. But her brother was there, and Cadvan was there, and everyone she loved would be there soon. Perhaps she was terrified, but to stay away was unbearable. "You don't understand. I have to go back."

"But do you want to?"

"Of course."

Mama Lena sighed. "I've spoken to Lyla. I know your feelings regarding Crestor, but I think you might find that if you used your wits a bit more, you could manage him. He is young and finds you striking. He would do what you asked if you asked a bit sweeter."

Maerad suddenly realized that Mama Lena was trying to offer her protection. She clearly thought, rightly so, that Maerad was in danger if she went back to the dark tower, and that by offering to let her stay and pursue her courtship with Crestor, she would be safer. Maerad almost laughed at the absurdity. Yes, returning to Sharma's care was terrifying, but stay away was unbearable.

"It's hard to explain," Maerad said, toying with her fingers.

"If your lord is unduly cruel-"

"It's not _him_ who is cruel," Maerad said quickly.

"Someone else then?"

"Yes, someone else." Maerad bowed her head. Even if she told the truth, she doubted Mama Lena could do much about it. "I have to go back. I have-well my family is there. My friends also. I have no desire to abandon them."

"You would risk great pain for this?" Mama Lena shook her head. "You could spare yourself much torment if you agreed to Crestor's suit."

"Frankly, I'd rather be dead," Maerad said in a cool voice. "Whatever my fate, I'm afraid it's up in that tower."

Mama Lena turned her gaze to the window and in the distance she saw the black spire of Sharma's palace. "You seem certain of that, which is unfortunate, but so be it. I've been given two more weeks with you, which seems a ridiculously short time to make any progress."

"Perhaps I should stop entertaining Crestor?"

Mama Lena smiled wryly. "I don't think so. He's quite fond of you and spends good money. The least you can do with the rest of your time is pay back a little of what was given. The skills you've learned are invaluable to a young woman on the rise."

That seemed debatable, but then…perhaps Hulls were beyond beguiling but the other servants of Sharma might not be so discerning. "If I must."

"You must, so smile once in a while," Mama Lena warned. "I want Crestor coming back until the day you leave."

Though the thought of spending the next two weeks with Crestor gulled her, as Maerad joined them a bit later and took out her lyre, she was thinking of Cadvan. He was coming back to Dagra, he had lived and they would be reunited again. She felt her heart swelling with hope, a warmth in her that couldn't be quenched. Cadvan was coming back, and she would be with him soon. After months apart, two weeks would be as easy as breathing.


	26. Chapter 26

Hi everyone! Sorry this came out so late but with school starting again I got a little busy. Also, next chapter will be the last for part one, and I'm really looking forward to hearing what you think. Enjoy!

Chapter Twenty-Six

"Come now, Bard, if you don't eat how will you heal?"

Malgorn leaned away from Likud, who was trying to force a chunk of dripping meat into his mouth. He could smell overpowering spices and blood and his eyes watered. Likud grabbed his hair and tugged him forward and shoved the meat against his lips.

"Open your mouth, Malgorn. I swear to you, if you don't, I'll knock the teeth out of your mouth." Malgorn squirmed suddenly and Likud, surprised by the movement, dropped the meat. Likud hissed. "You stupid, Bard!"

"Stop it!" Silvia ordered, straining against the soldier who was holding her wrists. "Stop this now!"

Likud cast a dismissive glance at Silvia. "Your wife has a mouth on her. How do you suffer that temper?" The Hull lunged forward, grabbing the collar of Malgorn's shirt and dragging him back along the ground. Likud stooped to pick the meat lying in the dirt and dusted it off with a flick of his wrist. He slammed Malgorn against a tree, sending spikes of pain down his back where the stitches strained to hold his injuries closed. Likud held the meat up once more. "Open your mouth and chew. Just one bite, that won't hurt. Then you can go back to bread."

Malgorn eyed the meat speculatively. He'd spoken a little to Cadvan and Saliman over the last two weeks, and they'd warned him not to accept any of the meat the Hulls offered. He looked mildly disgusted by the offer. "Give it to someone who deserves it. Clearly, a Bard has no right to something as nutritious as that."

"Don't play coy, Malgorn." Likud flicked his gaze over the Bard's white face. "You are _exactly _the person that deserves this."

"I can't."

"You will." Likud squeezed his cheeks, trying to force him mouth to open. "You will because you'll get nothing more till you eat it. And neither will your wife."

Malgorn kept his gaze fixed on Likud, but his thoughts turned immediately back to Silvia. He could hear her, grunting and gasping, trying to break the hold of the soldier. Until then, she had fared well enough on their journey, though he supposed that was Cadvan's doing. Silvia rode with him each day, tucked safely before him on Darsor, out of sight of the Hulls and soldiers who harassed the other Bards. When it was cold, Cadvan draped his cloak over her, when it was night, he kept his eyes on her, when she slept, it was always under his protection. Malgorn, who sometimes rode abreast of the Hulls, had seen the conditions to which the other Bards were treated, and was grateful for her timely escape. They were made to walk, many of them barefoot, through inclement conditions. It was spring, and though the snow had mostly melted, icy water ran from the mountains, flooding the plains. At night, the temperatures dropped and people huddled around sparse fires, shivering even as their breath curled on the night air before them. When it rained, they slogged through mud, drenched to their skin. Soldiers from the Black Army harassed them, threatening them with whips and chains if they didn't go faster. A thin string of bodies was left behind, and Malgorn, who was their First Bard and leader, burned with shame. He had been so distracted by his own injuries, by his desperate desire to see Silvia safely to Dagra, that he hadn't given the Bards of Innail his attention.

_You've already failed the people of Innail, _he thought miserably. _Why fail Silvia too?_

Malgorn held out his hand, palm up, and accepted the piece of meat from the Hull. Under Likud's watchful gaze, he chewed the tough hunk of meat, aware he was probably eating one of his own people. He tried to swallowed as quickly as possible, barely tasting the meat, and stuck out his tongue when he was finished for the Hull's inspection.

"Not so bad, was it?" Likud asked, eyes glittering with malice. "I find it rather flavorful, to be honest."

Malgorn wanted to spit. "You're disgusting."

"_You_ just ate part of person, so perhaps you ought to think before you bandy names around like that. Perhaps a little more will ease that mood of yours?"

Malgorn's face showed his horror and Likud chuckled. "As I thought."

"May I go now?" Malgorn asked in a cold, even voice. Arguing or struggling with the Hulls didn't get very far, as he had learned on a few painful occasions, so it was best to simply ask and wait.

Likud bowed ironically. "Oh, by all means, First Bard. Take a bit of rest, go easy on yourself. I know how difficult the _ride_ is for you."

Malgorn ignored the barb and turned away. As soon as Likud had made his bow, the soldier restraining Silvia released her and she flew across the small space to Malgorn. She wrapped her arm about his waist and helped him limp over to join the small circle of Bards around a fire. She could feel him shivering against her, the muscles in his back spasming.

"Be mindful of your back, my love," she said in a low voice. "Those stitches hold, but only just. I don't like the idea of trying to close your wounds on the road."

Malgorn tried to smile. "I'm as mindful as I can be, Silvia. I certainly do not relish the idea of tearing open my stitches, but that Hull is appalling."

"Let him have his fun, you've more important things to worry about."

"Like you?" he asked, trying to be playful.

Silvia was going to tell him off then but saw the look in his eyes and her face softened. "Like me."

"Silvia, Malgorn, we'd wondered where Likud had dragged you off to." Saliman was up and offering his arm to help support Malgorn back to their fire.

Since the fall of Innail and the start of their journey home, Likud had seemingly lost interest in the Bards. They were no longer required to be tied up at night, they were not forced into stables to sleep, their weapons were not taken from them. It was almost like Likud thought, having seen their city destroyed, their power was broken. Occasionally, Likud might appear to taunt Cadvan, demanding his song about the fall of Lirigon, or remind Finlan he would die soon, or, as he had just done, play with Malgorn, but aside from that, Likud left them to their own devices.

"Be careful with his back," she warned, eyes following Malgorn's every move. "Likud practically tore the stitches out just now. I should check them, sit him down, sit him down."

Malgorn met Saliman's eye and flashed him an ironic smile. Silvia could be standing amid the ruins of everything she held near and dear, but that wouldn't stop her from ordering her husband to be careful. "Do go a little easy," he said softly.

The other had jumped up when Silvia and Malgorn approached and Indik indicated a spot on the ground where he spread his cloak. "Put him here." Malgorn had barely settled into his seat when Silvia came at him, tugging up his shirt to check injuries.

"Likud had something to say, huh?" Indik asked gruffly, watching Silvia's clever hands.

"No, just something to give." Malgorn gasped when Silvia's fingers brushed a tender stitch and she hummed in sympathy. "Offered me dinner."

Cadvan and Saliman both shared a revolted look. "I hope you managed to avoid that," said Cadvan dryly.

"I couldn't avoid one spoonful, but I think he lost interest after that." Malgorn glanced at Cadvan ironically. "Apparently, you really are his favorite."

"Envy me why don't you?" Cadvan returned. Cadvan had noted that, since their journey had begun and Silvia had come under his watch, both Malgorn and Indik had seemed to forgive him. Though they didn't speak often, and humor were running dry at the moment, they shared some talk each day, even a few jokes.

Malgorn grinned. "I don't think my imagination stretches that far."

Cadvan sat back, using his saddle to support him. "Did he mention to tell you how far we are from Den Raven? We've been riding weeks it seems, but I don't think we've crossed the Niken River."

"So keen to get back to Dagra?" Malgorn asked.

Cadvan looked up quickly and smiled sheepishly. "I've been gone too long. There are certainly things I need to see to."

"I'm sure she is safe," Silvia said after a moment. She studied Cadvan's face closely, her eyes soft and sad. "You would know if something had happened to Maerad."

"Would I?" The words came out angrier than he intended, and Cadvan looked down at his hands intently. He was thinking of the bitter, apathy he'd been feeling since the fall of Lirigon. He worried he was becoming too jaded.

His outburst settled over the crowd and stretched into silence. It was a time before Saliman said, "Don't fool yourself, Cadvan. You were her mentor, her friend, perhaps more, you would know if something happened to her."

Saliman's reassurances did little to ease Cadvan and he drew his knees up against his chest. "Perhaps all my Knowing is destined to be turned upside down."

"Not something like this," Silvia said firmly, and turned her eyes on Malgorn, who was seated beside her, looking exhausted. "The Ways of the Heart are mysterious, but I think you ought to have learned to trust them by now."

Cadvan glanced between the two and felt longing stirring in his heart. He had been away from Maerad for far too long now and resented every moment of it. His shoulders drooped in defeat and he smiled helplessly at Silvia. "Forgive my foul mood, this journey has cost me dearly but it's no reason to be harsh with you."

Hekibel, who had watched the exchange from the opposite of the fire, mulled over Cadvan's sudden changing moods. Since joining the Bards, she had observed many such instances and wondered at their ability to shift smoothly from joy to sorrow to anger to forgiveness. It sometimes felt like she was caught up in a stream of emotions that was too complex to understand, and when she finally thought she understood a Bard, they simply turned again. Even Saliman had displayed the unnerving ability to move from gentle to stern, and it left her feeling uncertain. She wished Hem was with them because he, at least, was a solid presence.

That night, when Saliman offered to take the first watch, Hekibel forced herself to stay up and joined him in the frail light of their dying fire. "Shouldn't you be asleep?" Saliman asked, turning to her in greeting. "Tomorrow will be another long day of travel and you want your wits about you." The words were a reprimand, but the tone of his voice was playful.

"By that logic, you should sleep too." She watched Saliman's face closely. He smiled briefly before looking down at his hands, scowling at the grime under his nails.

"When this journey is over, I am going to sleep like the dead," he told her presently. "Days and nights of sleep, hours and hours of sleep."

"And I suppose I'll have to kiss you awake, like in the stories?"

He laughed suddenly, a warm, content sound that surprised Hekibel. She thought the Bards were beyond true laughter anymore. "That would make a fine story, wouldn't it? Certainly worth a few songs."

"If there are songs anymore," she said softly, and regretted it when Saliman's face fell. "I will be happy to see Hem again. I wonder that he has grown into a strong, capable young man."

"He has faced the Nameless One himself," Saliman mused. "No one can say he is not strong and capable, but I too wonder how he has been these months. Twice now, he has healed me, and at no small cost to himself. I worry that he will be in poor condition when I return."

Hekibel shifted uncomfortably, picturing the young man she had known. "I miss him."

Saliman watched Hekibel closely. He had been so consumed with his own worry over the battle of Innail, his part in capturing Silvia, and Malgorn's condition that he had given her little thought. He noticed now that she was startingly pale and held her arms protectively against herself. Saliman reached out and pulled her against him.

"There is more to your fear than you say, but you must trust me to see you safely through this."

"But what _is_ it? For you and all the rest of the Bards, it's like you know something I don't! Do you see something I don't? How can this evil that we march toward not utterly engulf you? I feel like the world is falling down around me and I've nothing to do but wait for it, but you, you're already standing among the ruins rather contently."

Saliman stared at Hekibel, mouth agape. "My dear, you should have been born a Bard, or a poet at the very least," he finally said, a note of humor in his voice.

"Don't patronize me," she said sternly.

"I don't mean to," Saliman said kindly. "I mean only that your eloquence caught me unawares. I already stand among the ruins, do I?"

"And you do so with very little trouble it seems."

Saliman considered this a moment. "It's not without trouble," he said ruefully. "But there's nothing for it. I couldn't mourn Turbansk or Lirigon or Innail, I could not change my captivity, and I can't escape my service to the Nameless One. What was there left to do?"

Hekibel worried her lip. "Quit?"

"Hem needed me, and so did you." He searched her face, a small, sad smile tugging on his lips. "Perhaps everything has gone to ruin but that doesn't mean I'll abandon the people I love."

"Saliman, I'm afraid of what comes next," she admitted baldly. Her voice didn't shake when she said it, she didn't tremble with fear, Hekibel had seen far too much for such things. She sounded resigned, even morbidly curious, but not afraid. "What will happen to us?"

"You've asked me this before," Saliman said uncomfortably, and though his face was averted, he felt the heat of her gaze. He shifted a little and looked back over the small campfire and the other Bards there. "I'm not going to lie to you, Hekibel, I respect you more than that. It is my understanding that the Nameless One will retain my services in Dagra. I will have to live there, I will have to serve him. The histories of men and women who were held captive in Dagra are horrid stories, and I suspect that my treatment at his hands will not be easy. I want to warn you, I want you to understand that he will hurt me and there will be nothing you can do. Nothing you _should _do. I fear for you if you put yourself between me and the Nameless One."

Hekibel took his hand in hers, holding it against her breast. "You can't ask me to ignore your suffering."

"Oh, no, I would never do that. I'll need someone to clean me up after," he said in a tone meant to sound light and mildly humorous. Then his frail smile dropped. "I just don't want you to come to any harm."

"I'm about to follow you into Dagra itself. We're a little past coming into harm, don't you think?" She saw that her joke didn't improve Saliman's mood, though, and drew close to him. "I won't put myself in harm's way, but I'm not going to abandon you to the Nameless One's wrath."

"You're too stubborn for your own good," Saliman mused, enjoying the warmth that radiated off her body on the chilly night. "Is there nothing I can say to make myself clear to you?"

"Not really," Hekibel said flippantly. "You're better off arguing with a wall."

"Ah, but you're nicer to look at then a wall," Saliman returned and placed a kiss on her hair. She rested her golden head on his shoulders, her eyes drooping closed as she listened the rhythm of his heartbeat. "Far better company, especially in Dagra."

* * *

"No, like how you straddle a horse. Keep your legs wide and grip with your thighs."

Maerad flushed from her face all the way down to her toes. "I know how to ride a horse," she grit out. "I don't see what that has in common with-"

"Really?" Lyla had appeared at her side, hands planted firmly on her hips and a smile teasing at the corners of her mouth. "_Really_, you have _no idea_ how riding a horse and a man are the same?"

Maerad looked away stubbornly. "One is an animal."

"They're both animals." Lyla's gaze flicked down to Maerad's knees which peaked out from the pale, translucent night gown. "It's just that one has a saddle and pommel, and the other only has a pommel."

"Stop it," Maerad said in a low voice. She didn't think she could bear such a lecture that early in the day.

"But it's true," Lyla said airily. "And you can forget that charming northern blush of your yours. This is the stuff a proper mistress learns, how the please her lord, so stop looking so embarrassed and attend me."

It was true that in her last few weeks, Maerad's education had taken on a much more practical application of skills. She rarely entertained Crestor, though he would still come once a week to flirt and try in vain to convince Maerad speak to Mama Lena. She would often meet him for dinners and play music for him, laughing at his poor humor and artfully keeping him off her. She had learned to almost perfectly duplicate Lyla's narrow smile that served more as warning than invitation, and she relished the fallen look on Crestor's face when she flashed it at him. She realized with a start that she didn't need her Gift to protect her when her attitude served as both armor and weapon. When she mentioned this to Lyla, the other woman laughed and told her that something useful must come of her education.

Since she couldn't lay with a man, though Lyla tried to wheedle her into practicing with one of the rare male escorts who flitted about the house, Maerad found herself many hours a day seated in her bed before Lyla, wearing, in her opinion, embarrassingly little clothing, practicing such things that Lyla promised her men liked. At first, she had fumbled her way through the simplest of acts and Lyla had broken her own personal rule and forced Maerad to drink a glass of wine in the morning. Of course, when they moved on from any position that required Maerad to lie on her back, Lyla had had to serve at two glasses to keep her from collapsing into a ball of embarrassment and giggles.

"It's just that I'm not sure this is what he would like," Maerad hedged. She was currently seated on her bed, trying and failing to mimic the motion her body made when she rode a horse at a canter.

"Oh, yes it is," Lyla warned. She walked around to the end of the bed so she could face Maerad directly. It was strange how easily the girl seemed to move between terrifying witch to prim young woman. "Tell me, Maerad, what do you think a man likes?"

Maerad pushed down the memory of Gilman's Cot and of Crestor and thought of her last night months ago with Cadvan. She remembered her clumsy hands making Cadvan jump back from her. "To be touched."

Lyla seemed to guess the tenor of her thoughts. "Ah, but there is an elegance to it, yes? Your own experience demonstrated that few men just want to be grabbed at. Some desire a little…finesse."

"Oh, so shall we ride horses together?" Maerad asked acidly before she got her tongue under control.

"Idiot girl. You will bore a man to death if all you ever do is lie on your back and wait for him to have his way with you." She saw Maerad nervously toy with the hem of her nightgown and sighed. "Are you a woman or a little girl?"

Maerad smarted. "I'm a woman."

"Ok, so." Lyla smiled slyly and sat on the bed. "You're a woman, and a woman is powerful. She isn't some small child to be ordered about, she is a person with desires and wants and needs, she takes the things she wants. And maybe, if she's generous, she gives a little back."

"Isn't that selfish with the man you love?"

She waved her hand flippantly. "We're all selfish once in a while." Maerad smiled slightly, thinking of all the lessons she had ever learned in service to the Light. Though what Lyla had said wasn't necessarily challenging the Balance, she had the idea Bards were fairer with their lovers.

Lyla was watching her closely. "You've a right to take the things you want, you know."

Maerad shivered at those words. "And this is what I want?"

"You might." Her eyes sparkled playfully. "You might find this to your liking quite a bit, but if you're so concerned with his pleasure, you'd never know. And he'll like you more for it. Men like a woman who takes the things she wants."

"Somehow, I doubt that," she replied.

"To an extent, you're right," Lyla amended. "There are some men who like to direct you, but I doubt yours is that sort. Take your own lead and see how he responds."

"And this is my own lead?" Maerad gestured vaguely at her splayed legs.

Lyla laughed. "I think you'll find it enjoyable enough if you try. Now, rock your hips like you're riding a horse."

Maerad tossed her hair aside, forming a curtain between herself and Lyla, but she could feel the other woman's stern temper like a physical thing. After a moment, she began to move again and Maerad felt that certain rush of power Lyla mentioned. She wondered vaguely if this was the sort of thing Crestor would have wanted from her, then pushed the thought aside with an eyeroll. No, Crestor wanted easy women, smiling women, but Cadvan…

"What are you thinking about, you little devil?" Lyla asked sharply, watching Maerad's hips move. It wasn't nearly as smooth as she wanted, and she grabbed Maerad hips, jerking them into rhythm. "If you do this to a man, he'll marry you. What you were doing would have broken his back."

Maerad couldn't help herself but look down and watch with morbid fascination as her hips smoothly swung back and forth. After a few minutes, her abdomen began to ache. "Is it supposed to hurt your stomach?"

Lyla's laughter was low and provocative. "Good girl. It means you're working hard."

Maerad stared down at her stomach. "I thought I was supposed to enjoy this?"

"You will. Now, don't look at yourself, try staring forward, like you're enjoying it so much you can't be bothered to focus on anything. Or, if you've the nerve, look down into the man's eyes."

Maerad smiled vaguely. It had been so long since she'd seen Cadvan's eyes. Dark blue, so dark they were almost black, but bright at times, a fountain of light. _Though not recently, and certainly not when he returns to Dagra. _Maerad felt the motion of her hips stutter and she lost concentration.

"Maerad, what did I just say about breaking someone's back?"

Maerad stopped move, sat back on her heels. "Can this really make someone happy?" she asked bluntly. "I mean all of this-these things we do-can it make someone happy or does it just make them feel good?"

Lyla blinked slowly, lips pursed. "Our job is to make men feel good, because when they feel good, they're happy."

"Yes, but-" Maerad struggled to find words "-If you took away all the lovemaking and the letters and the pretty words, do we actually make people happy? Or is it just like when you've had too much wine and you feel good? Superficial?"

"Why do you ask such a thing?" Lyla wondered, studying Maerad's face closely. In the months Lyla had being training Maerad, she had found that there was more emotion in the girl's eyes than her entire body.

"Because if I love someone, I should want to make them _truly_ happy, not just content."

"Love is not something women like me know well. I pity you if you love the man who sent you here," she said in a hard voice. "And no, if you want him to love you, what I've taught you will not suffice."

"Then what will it do?"

Lyla shrugged. "Make him want you."

Maerad turned her gaze inward, curious if that was what she wanted. She recalled the feeling of Cadvan's hands on her, his lips tracing lines of fire on her body, the aching she had felt that had driven her almost insane. But she also knew that there was more to love than the passion of that night, and she wanted more. She wondered, not for the first time, what Cadvan wanted. Fleetingly, her worry that this war and the horrors he witnessed would change him returned. She didn't know that she could give Cadvan the things to make him better.

Lyla sensed her concern. "You need not fear for anything else. From what you've said, this man already likes you well enough. The things I teach you, they'll just keep him content."

Her eyes drifted down to her bony knees and she flushed at the thought of trying to replicate the position with Cadvan. "And I suppose that's the most important thing I can do now?"

"Well, if you came here, clearly it's something he desires. Now," Lyla said imperiously, trying to draw Maerad from her reverie, "I want you to look at me with desire. Convince me with only your eyes that you want me."

Though Maerad set about to staring rather provocatively at Lyla, their lesson was cut short when a young girl knocked and told them that Mama Lena wanted to speak to them. Lyla raised her eyebrows at Maerad and waved her off the bed. Maerad hurriedly slipped into a gown and ran a brush through her hair before following Lyla dutifully into down to the older woman's office. Mama Lena was seated behind her desk, eyeing a note unhappily when they entered.

"You've been summoned," she said flatly to Maerad as she entered. "An emissary from the tower will arrive early this evening to collect you. You are ordered to make yourself presentable for respected company. Apparently, you will be meeting with important people tonight."

Maerad's mouth had gone dry. Beside her, Lyla stirred. "Who are the people she is being sent to?"

"I was not told," Mama Lena said simply. "She will return to the tower and the rooms where I found her. Your lord is returned."

Maerad's heart was in her throat. Cadvan was back. Months they'd been apart and suddenly he was back. Was he in the city at that very moment? Was he sitting in those cavernous rooms before the hearth, sipping wine and trying in vain to ignore the presence of the Nameless One? Was he before Sharma right now? Too many thoughts and worries were racing through her head, she wanted to laugh and cry at once.

Her confusion was mistaken for fear by the other women, who exchanged sharp glances. "Perhaps we could tell them she is ill and not suited to company?" Lyla suggested, studying Maerad's pale features. "Put out she has come down with a fever?"

"I don't think it is wise to lie to the lords of the dark tower," Mama Lena said uncertainly.

"But look at her," Lyla insisted. "She can't go back like this."

Mama Lena worried her lip. She prided herself not just on the status of her young women, but the lavish care she provided them. Maerad seemed almost terrified of returning to the man. "Perhaps we could buy her a few days here, but this isn't a demand we can ignore."

Maerad shook herself, jumping to attention. "No! No, wait. You must let me go. I have to go back."

"Are you sure?" Lyla asked sharply. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

Maerad looked hard at Mama Lena. "I told you I could not abandon my family and friends. I must return to them no matter the cost."

Mama Lena's brows furrowed. "I am not overly fond of sending my girls off to be abused."

Maerad smiled ironically. "I'm not overly fond of letting someone abuse me. Have a little faith in my abilities to defend myself."

Lyla shook her head angrily, saying, "It's not right. Let her stay a bit longer, just long enough to-"

"No. No, if the girl says she must return I see no reason in risking our necks for it." She sighed heavily, glancing at the desk before her. "I don't like it, but it's not in my power to refuse it. Get her ready, make sure she looks the part. If we are to send one of our girls up to the tower, I will have them looking like a proper mistress of this house."

Lyla frowned but bowed her head. "As you'll have it. Come, Maerad, we've work to do with you in that case."

The day passed like something of a dream for Maerad. Or, maybe a nightmare. The inevitability of her return to the dark tower, coupled with her desire to see her brother and Cadvan, left her in a strange state. She longed to see her friends and family again, but she was afraid of what she might find. Hem had been Sharma's captive for months, alone with no one for company but Hulls. Cadvan and Saliman must have returned from war, but in what condition she could barely guess. The war…if Innail had been defeated, Silvia and Malgorn would be brought back as well.

Her thoughts kept her quiet and docile as Lyla led her back upstairs and to the bath. She slipped the gown from Maerad and helped her into a tub full of scented water. She added oils and soap and washed Maerad's hair and face, giving her practical instruction in cleaning herself. When Maerad emerged, she sat straight-backed and silent while Lyla brushed her hair and twisted it up into a tight bun to dry. She removed a bottle of oil lavender oil and dabbed a little on the inside of her wrists, behind her ears, her throat and her chest. Lyla would occasionally try to engage her in conversation, but Maerad was far away, already up in the tower with her brother and Cadvan.

_And Sharma, _she thought as Lyla took her back to her room. _There will be no reprieve from Sharma. _

"It'll be evening by the time you arrive, so you'll need a gown with a bit of warmth. Tell me, what is your mysterious lord's favorite color? What will please him most when he sees you?"

Maerad blinked, nonplussed. _That he'll see me at all. _"I don't know his favorite color."

Lyla rolled her eyes. "Fine, we'll pick a color that suits you." Maerad sat on the bed, watching dispassionately while Lyla flicked through her gowns, muttering about the pattern on one, disparaging the lace on another, and wondering how they were going to fit all the gowns in one chest to send back with her. She pulled out a stylish gown in dark red, cut low so that her breasts would show, the bodice worked with gold string in the style of falling leaves. She flourished it, purring with delight.

"You've never worn something like this before, have you?" Her eyes glimmered when Maerad shook her head. "Your lord will be mightily pleased to come back after months of war and find you in this. Come, where's the stomacher?"

For a brief period, Maerad put the thoughts of Hem and Cadvan aside as Lyla got her into the dress. Corsets were Maerad's least favorite piece of clothing, and Lyla laced it so tight she struggled to breathe. She cast an unhappy glance at the other woman. "Does it have to be so tight?"

"How long has your lord been gone?" Lyla asked, inspecting Maerad's décolletage professionally. "How long since he's had a woman?"

Maerad blushed. "I don't see what that has to do with anything."

"It has everything to do with it. Men who come back from war want nothing more than food, ale, and a warm bed. When he first sees you, you must be the picture of desire. You must be so lovely that all thoughts of war and death are pushed from his mind and all he can think of is taking you to his bed. He must want you the way a starving man wants food."

"I'm not a piece of meat." Maerad glanced at herself in the mirror and saw the shapely curves the corset created with her body. "He'll want me regardless of how I look."

"You do him better service by looking attractive," she said flatly. "Other men should want you, _everyone _should want you, but he alone can have you. So, yes," she finished, giving the corset a tug so it sat lower, "it must be this tight."

After that, Maerad allowed Lyla to dress her with little complaint. She doubted if she did complain that Lyla would bother to listen anyway. Instead, she let the woman slip the red gown over her corset, lacing it carefully up the back so it clung to her figure. She pulled Maerad's hair down and nodded faintly in approval at the length. Like the first night Maerad had been there, Lyla lifted a hank of the curling ends and sniffed them delicately. This time, the faint aroma of lavender filled the air and Lyla smiled to herself. She sat Maerad in a chair and began to brush her hair rhythmically, braiding the front into a small crown.

"There's more I would have liked to teach you," Lyla began after a time. "You're a bit young to be playing this game, but you could have done well in the end, I think."

"A pity," Maerad said tonelessly.

"There's a bit more I'll tell you about tonight. A few things more you need to know." Lyla caught Maerad's eyes in the mirror. "You've been playing at being a mistress, but it's time you lived it. Tell me what you will do tonight."

_Weep tears of relief and horror when my friends are brought back to face Sharma's wrath. _"I will be reunited with my friends and family."

Lyla tweaked her ear. "Don't play dumb. Tonight, you will be in bed with your lord. What will you do?"

"Whatever he asks," Maerad said dryly, thinking of Cadvan's gentle hands and kind words.

"No. He didn't send you here so that you could just do what he says. He expects you will return with talents and trades you didn't have before. He wants to be entertained." When Maerad stared back blankly, Lyla smirked. "You've read all the books, practiced all the words, so, tell me what you will do."

Maerad shrugged helplessly. "What should I do?"

"He'll have ridden far and hard to get home, so he'll be tired. Prepare a bath for him, take the opportunity to wash his hair, his face, his neck. Make sure there is plenty of wine and good food, too! Soldiers don't eat well." She gave Maerad a severe look. "Keep your conversation light and pleasant, do not ask him how the battle was, do not pester him for stories of blood and war, you must be a relief to him. Play music for him, but make sure it's nothing sad. No songs of war. You want him to be comfortable."

Maerad wanted to laugh at the advice of Lyla, for the girl had little understanding of what was to come. But, she bowed her head earnestly and gestured for her to continue.

"Then, a time will come when conversation will seem dry and you'll have run out of words. Tell him that it's been a long time since you've shared his bed, tell him you missed him at night." She smiled narrowly at some memory. "Men like the thought of women missing them. I wouldn't play too many games after that, though. He's been away from you too long to wait patiently. Other nights, you can play and kiss and tease him all you like, but tonight, just disrobe and join him in bed, he'll like that more."

"And then?" Maerad couldn't help her curiosity. She recalled her last night and her bumbling hands and confusion: whether or not she and Cadvan made love that night, she planned to do it sometime and would have preferred to do it right.

"Take a little initiative, be a little forward-he'll want to know you still want him. Sit on his lap and kiss him, tangle your hands up in his hair like you can't help but hold him. But that night, _that first night_, let him direct you. Whatever he wants, give it to him."

Maerad bit her lip, thinking of all the days she had passed trying to learn how to be with a man. "I thought I was to decide."

"I told you it's a game of give and take, and tonight when he's fresh home from war and tired and bitter and hurting, you must put aside your own desires and comfort him. Give him the things he wants."

Maerad turned away to look outside to where the sun was setting. "They'll come for me soon."

"Indeed." Lyla followed her gaze and clasped her hands. "I think you are a fool for returning to that place, and I think I will never see you again."

Maerad switched her gaze to Lyla and studied her closely. She had always considered Lyla beautiful, and now, in the dying sun, her warm brown skin, coffee colored eyes, and thick dark hair was more lovely than ever. She wasn't a Bard, she didn't see the complexities of life Maerad saw, but she was possessed of the solemnity of a Bard. She knew a hard and painful knowledge. Maerad thought that maybe they weren't that different, both slaves in Dagra beholden to cruel lords, and maybe that was why Maerad felt suddenly sure she would see Lyla again.

"You will," Maerad said simply. Lyla turned to face her, eyebrows raised in questioning. "I am certain you and I will see each other again."

"Well, you are a witch. Perhaps you have powers I do not," Lyla said. She meant it in jest, but it sounded far more serious. She gave herself a shake. "We'll have one of the girls handle your gowns and have them sent up to you tonight. Tomorrow afternoon should be a fair enough day, wear something pleasant to celebrate the victory in the north, yes?"

"I'll do my best," Maerad said kindly. "Maybe yellow?"

"I hate that color on you."

The two women held each other's gaze a moment and then there was a knock on the door, a young girl come to let Maerad know she was being summoned. Maerad glanced back at Lyla as she moved to go, but Lyla stood where she was, her hand raised in a faint farewell. She wasn't coming to see Maerad off, they weren't friends like that, not really. So Maerad left and Lyla sat heavily on the bed, staring at the space where the strange girl had been. She didn't feel sad to see the other girl go, but it didn't make her happy either. There had been something very strange about the girl from the north, some great sadness that had preoccupied her for the last few months, but Lyla didn't have the perception of what that sadness might be.

She sat on the bed where Maerad had been, wondering if she ever would see her again. Would she want to? She shifted uncomfortably with the thought and something under the mattress crackled. Curious, Lyla lifted the mattress, feeling around with her fingers until her hand landed on a sheaf of paper. She removed them and was shocked to find a pile of carefully written letters, all addressed to person called Cadvan. As the sun sank, Lyla read through them, her face going pale and her hands trembling a little. After finishing, she folded them and tucked them up her sleeve, and sat on the bed a long time considering what she had read. It was like one of the stories her mother would tell, a story of princesses and heroes and great evil. She wondered what darkness they had just sent Maerad back to.

* * *

Madness had broken loose and Cadvan suspected that Likud was one more outburst away from finding a whip. They'd arrived in outside Dagra late in the afternoon as the sun was setting, and a fission of energy swept through the crowds of captive Bards. The journey under the pitiless eyes of the Hulls and the crude care of the soldiers had brutalized many of them of feeling, but when the walls of Dagra arched above them, the fear and anger and bitterness of their capture returned. Bards stumbled to halts, women and men made desperate attempts to find their children, boys and girls began to sob. The soldiers reacted with vicious efficiency, and though the crowds were driven forward, the air around the Bards seemed to crackle with energy. To make matters worse, before they reached the tower, the dogsoliders emerged from their ranks and began to drive the Bards away, through tall gates to a walled off section of the city. There were pikes along the wall, upon which entrails hung, flapping in the breeze. The sight was enough to turn most Bards, but the dogsoldiers herded them like sheep. When people began to break away and attempt to escape, the child soldiers were sent after them. The energy Cadvan had felt in the air exploded, flares of White Fire were seen throughout the crowds, shouting in the Speech echoed in the streets, and the Hulls were furious.

"You think the Hulls might have the wisdom to predict this," Saliman observed dryly.

The Bards of the First Circle, Cadvan and Saliman had been riding at the front of the column with some of the generals and watched from a distance as the Bards of Innail scattered. Each and every one of them felt the urge to join their companions and make a mad attempt to escape, but the dream was effectively dashed when Likud had ridden before them, a dark look on his face and said, "If any of you so much as _moves_ in the direction of the gates, I'll see you all whipped within an inch of your life." His eyes had roved to Malgorn, slumped a little in the saddle, and he smiled crookedly.

"Have no fear, Likud," Saliman had said with false bravado. "I desire nothing more than a bath and a bed, both of which, though I don't like admitting it, are in that tower."

"Finally, a Bard with a bit of sense," Likus had spat before riding off to find his lieutenants.

They stood and watched the disarray, Malgorn looking particularly uncomfortable as his people struggled. Silvia tried to catch his eye, but he seemed to be purposefully looking away. "I hope they don't hurt them. It's fear that does this, not a desire to escape."

"Whatever the Hulls feel for the Bards, they have their orders, and their orders are to see the Bards safely locked away. They won't risk the wrath of the Nameless One," Saliman said as the surging crowds began to fall back behind the gates. "Do you think all the Bards are there? The ones from Turbansk and Lirigon as well?"

"It seems a large neighborhood," said Vaclal listlessly. "And there aren't thousands of us."

They sat on their horses and watched a while longer before Likud returned with a few Hulls his wake. "Come, we've an important dinner to attend."

Cadvan and Saliman exchanged looks, quite sure they knew who the dinner was with. They followed Likud and the Hulls the rest of the way up the road and through the gates that surrounded the dark tower. When the dismounted, Silvia went to check Malgorn at once, and the remainder of the First Circle gathered tightly around each other. Cadvan noticed that Likud was watching them closely. After a moment, the Hull sensed Cadvan's gaze and turned to him with an ugly, satisfied expression.

"Take the First Circle to the lower dungeon with the others. Tonight, only the First Bards will join us," Likud ordered dogsoldiers nearby.

Silvia was hysterical. She didn't want to be parted from Malgorn and began thrashing and pulling on the soldiers trying to tear her away. Malgorn realized at once that if she fought to stay she'd be hurt, and he tried to convince her in a low voice to go quietly, that she would be safe with Kelia and Indik. She dug her heels in, trying to grab his arm, and Malgorn, seeing the excited, hungry look on Likud's face, tugged himself free of her and turned to join the other First Bards before the Hull had reason to hurt her. The last they saw of Silvia was her pale face set with blazing green eyes in a mat of tangled red hair being dragged off.

"That woman hasn't the slightest sense of decorum, does she?" Likud wondered allowed before turning for the entrance to the tower. "Hurry up, you little ingrates. I'm weary of this travel."

They followed silently, crossing the entrance hall and heading for the stairs. Cadvan paused, his mind racing back to the day he left, and Maerad's promise she would meet him there upon his return. When he looked up, though, the stairs were empty. Though it wasn't necessarily reason for concern, Cadvan felt a stirring of trepidation. Where was she?

They took the stairs quickly, though Finlan and Malgorn struggled and had to be helped. Cadvan suspected that they sensed the malicious consciousness of the Nameless One, his will bent against them like a physical thing. He still remembered what it felt like when the Nameless One turned his attention on him. It had taken all his strength to throw off his anger, and even then, it had been hard.

Quite suddenly, they were before the large black doors that opened into the Nameless One's throne room. The other Bards must have sensed the importance of the moment and had fallen silent. Malgorn, leaning against Saliman, nervously twitched at the hem of his shirt. Likud glanced across at Cadvan with a gleeful look just as the doors opened.

The scene before them was greeted with silence before mayhem ensued. The figure of the Nameless One was bent over, towering over two figures. One was clearly Hem, curled in a ball and clutching his stomach, he coughed up blood and vomit and clamped his eyes shut. Kneeling over Hem protectively was an old man who, after a beat, Cadvan recognized was Nelac. Nelac's face was turned up, his eyes flashing defiantly at the Nameless One, and he seemed to be saying something. What he was saying, however, was drown out by the sound of shrieking and cursing that was coming from Maerad who was being held back by a Hull. For one moment, Cadvan took all this in before darting forward. The Nameless One whipped about like a snake when the doors opened. He watched Cadvan's path as the man tried to free Maerad from the hold of the Hull, then switched his dark eyes to Saliman, who was trying to shift Malgorn so he could get to Hem. He smiled briefly before stepping back and taking his seat.

Cadvan pulled Maerad free of the Hulls, swinging her behind him. "_Don't_ touch her," he warned in an icy voice, his hand resting on the hilt of his blade.

Maerad felt her heart stutter to a halt when Cadvan turned about to face her. He looked haggard, his eyes dull, his hair unkempt, a shaggy beard darkening his cheeks and chin. His clothes were worn and stained with dirt and there were healed cuts and ugly bruises on his arms. When he caught her eyes, something in his face flinched, and he looked down as if he couldn't bear to look at her. A part of her longed to throw her arms about him and crush herself against him. They had been apart far too long.

"Cadvan," she said blankly, staring into his face.

His gaze switched up to her and he said, "Maerad, I-"

Before he could finish, Hem gave a sharp shout and Maerad spun about. Cadvan tried to grab her before she ran across the room, but she flitted out of reach and rushed to her brother's side. Cadvan followed her, acutely aware of the Nameless One's eyes on them. He could sense the amusement of the Nameless One, hear his laughter in the back of his head. Maerad skidded to a halt before her brother, almost stumbling into Nelac.

Nelac stood up, turning to Cadvan, who was trailing Maerad. "Cadvan," he said, and his voice was soft and his eyes were bright with despair.

"Nelac, what are you doing here?" Cadvan asked, scanning his face.

"I could ask you the same, Cadvan," he said sympathetically, and then turned to see Maerad brushing the hair out of Hem's face. "I hoped the vision was wrong."

"Vision?" Cadvan wondered.

Nelac merely shook his head as the other Bards stumbled in and the Nameless One admitted a pulse of energy, his consciousness grazing their minds. Cadvan shuddered and had the urge to cover Maerad from the Nameless One's attention. He was shocked, though, when he saw her glaring up at the Nameless One with unmuted hatred. She reminded him of a wolf, crouching over her brother like he was her injured pup.

"What a pleasant reunion this must be for you all," the Nameless One announced, his dark eyes moving from face to face. Each Bard flinched when his eyes rested on them. "Family, friends, mentors, lovers, all together again. The time has come to let your hearts heal."

Malgorn quaked with rage against Saliman. "Heal our _hearts_?" he spat.

The Nameless One's dark eyes slid sideways, a smile quirked the edges of his lips. "In your case, Malgorn of Innail, the time has come to heal your body as well."

Likud's laughter echoed around the room. "I think that will take quite some time, my lord."

"No doubt," the Nameless One said carelessly. "But a long recovery offers the reward of a lasting lesson. He will know better next time, I think."

Silence met these words and the Nameless One turned his eyes on Cadvan. "Ah, the prodigal son returns. A little worse for wear, it seems, but whole. I imagine it was difficult for you when Lirigon was destroyed, I imagine it almost broke your heart. But you are in like company, no?" His face fixed on Saliman.

"Why have you gathered us here?" Cadvan demanded, keen to be away from the room and alone with Maerad.

The Nameless One sat back in his throne, surveying the Bards with casual interest. "I wanted to see what I would be working with." He smirked at Finlan. "I am not _entirely _disappointed. Some of you will make adequate servants in my new world."

None of the Bards bothered denying him. After seeing Cadvan and Saliman in service to the Dark, none of them thought they stood much of a chance of retaining their freedom. Vaclal cleared his throat, but when the Nameless One turned to face him, his voice failed him. The Nameless One smiled. "Would you care for some water? Wine? It is my desire to see you comfortable for there is such work that must be done and you, First Bard of Lirigon, must be fit to perform."

"What work?" Saliman asked, wondering what horrible plans the Nameless One had next.

"I am going to do the unthinkable, the unimaginable, the _impossible_." The Nameless One's eyes were glowing with a manic light that set the hairs on the back of the Bard's neck on end. Maerad, from her place on the floor, felt a shadow of Sharma's power enter her.

"You already have," she said in a hard voice.

Many of the Bards in the room had either never met Maerad, or had not heard her in a long while, and they were startled by the steadiness of a young woman in the face of such Darkness. Finlan, who had personally disparaged the girl, studied her curiously. She looked dangerous, he thought, not entirely human.

"You've made the Song whole and stolen its power. Have you not done enough?" she wondered aloud.

"Maerad, I thought Madam Lena would have taught you better. You ought to only speak when spoken to." The Nameless One's smile loosened so he looked mad and he gleamed at Cadvan, as if daring him to ask who Madam Lena was. "I will have to discuss this with her."

The threat was clear between his word: respect him or the Madam and all her girls would suffer. She clenched her brother tighter. "I was taught conversation. I thought that's what we were having."

"Cadvan, you know how I feel about her speaking to me with such impertinence," he said, affronted. "Will you allow this to continue?"

Cadvan was aware of Likud slipping to the corner of his vision, Likud, who had sworn he would get revenge on Maerad for what she had done to him. He placed a hand on her shoulder. "Maerad, please."

She looked up at him incredulously, but, oddly enough, the strain in his voice invoked Lyla's words: _But that night, that first night, let him direct you a little. Whatever he wants, give it to him. _She grimaced but pursed her lips and turned her eyes back on Sharma.

"My, my, has the little wolf been tamed?" the Nameless One wondered. "Perhaps she is just keen to get you alone, Cadvan. I imagine she's _beside herself _for wanting you."

Cadvan understood from his tone that the Nameless One was making fun of him, but he had no idea what was so amusing. "You've kept us apart many months. I _too _am keen to see her alone."

"You might find yourself pleasantly surprised," the Nameless One said in that same mocking voice. "You might even _thank me_ tomorrow."

"I'll thank you to release myself and Maerad from your service for the night," he rejoined smoothly.

"Clever," the Nameless One said, and Cadvan felt his shadowy thoughts flicking over his memories. "But are you not curious to what great task I have planned next?"

"After the last task you set me to, I could happily go the rest of my life without knowing."

"Don't be so selfish. I'm sure the rest of the Bards here are just dying to know why I've brought them alive and relatively unscathed to my fastness." His eyes scanned them, but not expect Saliman and Cadvan returned his gaze.

"What is it then?" Nelac asked from his place beside Cadvan. "What great task will you have us undertake?"

The Nameless One's eyes flicked away, to the window where the dark sky was glowing red from the fires in the pits below. The tense lines of his body relaxed as if suddenly coming to a conclusion, and he turned back to the Bards, hands clasped. "The time of the Bards is over. The Great Silence is about to begin."

Cadvan shivered. His words sounded like a prophecy, not a plan.

"Everything you are will be destroyed. My army has seen to the destruction of your cities, your culture, and slavery will destroy your people. But even that is not enough, even that is not _silence_. Your very way of life must be forgotten, your history must be lost, the very essence of Barding must be destroyed."

It seemed that every Bard in the room drew a deep breath, waiting for his blow to land. The Nameless One opened his hands in a generous gesture. "I am going to destroy the Speech, and you, my great, _Gifted _Bards, are going to help me."


	27. Chapter 27

Hi Everyone! So, this is the last chapter of part one, and I want to thank everyone for reading my story. I plan to start posting the second part, A Season in Hell, in early October. If you're interested in specific dates for that, shoot me a message on here and I'd be happy to let you know the day before I release it. Thanks again! I hope you all enjoyed it.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

"A brilliant idea, my lord." Likud moved from the corner of the room, eyes glowing with excitement. "Finally, an end to the prattling and whining of the Bards. Let us end the reign of their insufferable Light on this world."

"A new era," agreed the Nameless One wistfully. "An era of fire and shadow stretching forth for a thousand thousand years. The very history of the Bards will be forgotten in the Silence, not even a memory of their lives shall remain."

Nelac was shaking his head. "You can't destroy the Speech, Sharma, for even you draw your power from it. The Song is-"

"You know nothing of the Song, old man," spat the Nameless One with a vehemence that shocked the room. "You could not begin to understand its power. The Song is eternal, the Speech will die."

"But the Balance!" Nelac persisted.

"Curse your Balance!" Sharma snarled. "There is no Balance, there is only power. Shall we match the power of the Bards against mine?" He gestured to the dark pool in the center of the room. "Would you like to see Lirigon? Innail? Turbansk? Would you see how the Light faired against my power?"

The Bards stared up at the Nameless One aghast, unable to comprehend what he had said. The Speech was the Gift of the Bards, their nature, their biology. To destroy it would be to rip away an integral part of their being. Was a Bard truly a Bard without the Speech? Could a Bard live once it had been taken from them?

Vaclal found his voice, though it shook with anger. "What good will we be to you if you take the Speech? Bards will make poor slaves if they cannot cast charms for you."

"I did not let your people live because I expected them to make good slaves. In my experience, your people wither like reeds under my dominion. No, I let them live because it amuses me to see them miserable."

Vaclal hissed under his breath. "You will kill them all."

"Slowly, I hope."

"You have no idea what it will do to the world," Cadvan said in a dangerously soft voice. "You think it will destroy us, but who knows what else you might do. You will upset the balance of all things."

"How exceptionally arrogant you are, Cadvan, to assume that the Speech matters to all living things. Did the plants and animals not exist before your ancestors came to this land? Was the world not alive before your people brought the Speech? The world just wasn't suitable to creatures such as yourselves until the Speech came."

Sharma was, Maerad thought bitterly, right in some ways. The Bards brought the Speech with them to Edil-Amarandh, but this place existed long before the Bards. The Elementals lived here, singing the Song. She stared at Sharma, confused. Was he ending the Speech because it truly offended him and he took pleasure in the destruction of the Bards, or was he doing it because it was an offense to the Song? The Speech had captured the Song, bound it in runes so that it could be used. Was this its revenge? She glanced back at Cadvan, keen to have him alone and ask him what he thought.

"You will all help me in this," The Nameless One announced, eyes moving from face to face. "I will gather the most powerful Bards in all of Annar and the seven kingdoms and we will cast a spell together that will rip the Speech from the mouth of every Bard. That is why I have brought you all here, that is your great purpose."

Malgorn took a step forward from Saliman. "No. We won't help you destroy everything we are. You can threaten us, threaten the people we love, but we will not help you in this."

The Nameless One's eyes flicked over Malgorn's face. "Malgorn," he said clearly, a polite smile on his face, "I am going to rip your mind into so many pieces that when I stitch them back together, you'll forget the face of your daughter."

Maerad saw Malgorn go pale, and he stumbled back a step so that only fast action on Saliman's part prevented him from falling. The Nameless One stood, stretching and rolling his shoulders before clapping his hands together. There was a cruel light in his eyes, a hunger that Maerad recognized, the look of a cat that had tired of playing with its mouse.

"So, would you like to go first, Malgorn? I tell you, it's exhausting work, breaking minds and souls, but I am refreshed and ready to begin. Do you volunteer yourself to be the first to join my ranks?"

Malgorn licked his dry lips. "I would rather rot in your dungeon."

"That's what they all say," the Nameless One said to Likud, laughing like it was a private joke between the two of them. "None of them have the wit to vary the tune."

Saliman tightened his grip on his arm. "Be brave, try to relax."

Malgorn's breath rattled out of him weakly. He had expected this after his conversations with Cadvan and Saliman, but seeing it coming for him with that horrible grinning face was too much. Though he glanced back at the other Bards, there didn't seem a point in putting them between himself and the Nameless One. They would all meet the same fate in the end.

"Malgorn is injured," Cadvan said blandly as the Nameless One descended his throne. He stopped to stare at Cadvan's rigid face, confused. "You need to be careful."

His hand shot out and gripped Cadvan's chin, his nails digging into the soft flesh. The Nameless One inhaled the smell of his fear and leaned close. Cadvan recoiled from the touch like he'd been burned. "Have no fear, I won't kill your friend. I'll merely take a look at his mind, peek through those memories of his. When I'm done, who knows, perhaps he can join you and Saliman as honored members of my Circle."

The Nameless One threw Cadvan back and glanced at Malgorn. "Tell me, Malgorn, what is your Gift? Are you a Reader? I have much use of them." He gestured to Cadvan and Saliman, but Malgorn shook his head. "A Maker then? You can craft a crown for me to wear, a mighty scepter for me to wield."

When Malgorn didn't answer, Likud said smoothly, "He is of the Tending, my lord. It is said that no one knew more of beasts of the north than Malgorn of Innail."

"The _Tending_," the Nameless One said with disgust. "The Bards for which I have the least use. Healers and farmers and gourmands, the lot of them. What do I do with a First Bard whose knowledge is limited to animals?"

Malgorn lifted his chin. "I am no use to you. Send me to your dungeons."

"Come now, Malgorn," said the Nameless One, approaching him slowly, enjoying the nervous brilliance in his eyes. "Don't sell yourself so short. You are the First Bard, most Gifted in all of Innail. You have worth. Tell me, can you cook?"

"I think not, my lord," Likud supplied. The Hull was leaning forward, looking like a dog ready to spring on a poor rabbit. The memory of Malgorn being whipped, his pain and fear, excited the Hull and this seemed the perfect opportunity to see it again.

"You are no healer either," the Nameless One mused, standing before Malgorn now with his hands on his hips. He blinked slowly like a snake before snapping his fingers under Malgorn's nose. "No one knows more of birds and beasts than Malgorn of Innail? Then you shall be my master of horse! You can live in the stable with the rest of the animals." His laughter rang out and the Bards shivered.

Malgorn's eyes narrowed but he said nothing.

The Nameless One used his knuckle to lift Malgorn's chin up so he was forced to look into his dark eyes. "You will like that, yes? It will be just like home, rolling around in the dirt with the beasts?"

"If it keeps me away from you," Malgorn said in a low voice.

A fission of anger worked through the Nameless One's face: his lips curled back to reveal sharp teeth and his eyes flashed. The muscles in his hands tensed and Saliman thought that the Nameless One was going to strike him. Then he breathed out and smiled widely.

"Then thank me for being so generous."

Malgorn's face dropped. "What?"

"Thank me for allowing you to live with the animals. Show me how grateful you are, prostrate yourself before my throne." The Nameless One glanced at Saliman, looking utterly pleased with himself. "Tell me I'm a merciful master."

When Malgorn still didn't speak, the Nameless One lifted his hand threateningly. "Speak!"

Malgorn bared his teeth in a snarl. "Thank you for letting me care for your animals."

"That's not what I said," the Nameless One said icily.

Malgorn was quaking with rage, but Saliman's hand on Malgorn's arm offered a steady reminder. "Thank you for letting me live with your animals. You are a merciful master."

"I am, aren't I?" agreed the Nameless One, looking between the other Bards. "I am a merciful lord and you are all lucky to be my subjects. You will be made to understand this. Likud," he said suddenly, "take these Bards away - put them somewhere quiet and dark. I'll need time alone with Malgorn."

Cadvan drew a breath to speak but the Nameless One whipped around to face him. "You think it wise to question me, Cadvan, with your lover here? You think it wise to disagree with me?"

"I think you might consider letting them recover from their trip. Destabilizing someone's mind after trauma could do irreparable harm." Cadvan's words hung in the air as the Nameless One continued to stare at him. "If you want your servants to be useful, you might as well keep them whole."

"I'll treat my servants how I see fit," the Nameless One said before raising his hand, palm out to Malgorn. The Bards in the room felt a pulse of energy and Malgorn was jerked forward by an invisible lead. He stumbled to his knees and landed with painful gasp at the Nameless One's feet. "You see how he obeys me, he wants to join my ranks, and you, Cadvan, will not prevent him. Now, get your woman, and get out of my sight."

Maerad, who was kneeling by Hem, hissed. She wasn't going to leave Hem alone with the Nameless One without a fight. Hem, though, stirred under her hands. When the Hulls had dragged Maerad into the throne room Hem had been cursing the Nameless One because he'd forced Nelac to watch the progression of his people from Lirigon to Dagra and the old Bard had wept. The Nameless One had found the boy amusing at first, but when Hem called the Nameless One an old, weak, coward who wouldn't dare leave the safety of his tower because he was unfit for battle, he'd struck the boy in the stomach hard enough to bruise his ribs. He and Maerad made eye contact as he doubled over and crumpled to the floor. Now, coming back to his senses, Hem wanted Maerad away from the Nameless One.

"No, Maerad, no get out of here. I can find you later but it's not safe." His eyes moved to the Nameless One who was studying Malgorn's upturned, horrified face. Hem knew that he would be satisfied for a time, but as soon as Malgorn's mind had been broken, the Nameless One would need a new plaything and Hem feared it would be Maerad. "Go with Cadvan."

"I can't leave you," she whispered, her hands running over his face.

"I'll be fine," Hem managed a faint smile. "I've been here all along, no one knows how to handle Sharma better than me." When Maerad hesitated, he grasped her hand tightly. "Maerad, please, you've only just returned, I don't want to see you hurt."

The desperation in his voice shook Maerad and she looked away. "You _will c_ome to me before the week is out. Promise me this."

"I swear on the Light." Hem felt strange mentioning the Light in such a Light-forsaken place, but it was the only thing he could swear on. "Within the week."

Maerad kissed his forehead once before standing to face Cadvan. Though it had only been a few months, she was still in shock of seeing him standing before her. It was almost like the past months had fallen away and he'd never left for war and she'd never lived in the brothel, like their world hadn't fallen apart. She leaned forward to swipe a lock of his hair from his face then stopped herself, aware of the Nameless One watching them both. She gestured to the door.

"If the Nameless One wishes us to leave, perhaps we ought to."

Maerad's voice was tight and Cadvan suspected she was keen to be away from the throne room and whatever horrors the Nameless One would unleash on the Bards. He didn't want to leave Malgorn, but Cadvan knew there was little he could do to defend him. "I've been away too long," Cadvan agreed. He turned to face the Nameless One, who was smiling graciously at him, and made a stiff bow. "By your leave?" Sarcasm dripped from his voice.

"By all means, Cadvan, go enjoy yourself. I trust Maerad will treat you well." His dark eyes gleamed in her direction, and he laid a casual hand on Malgorn's shoulder. "Don't worry about us, we'll get on _swimmingly_."

Cadvan took Maerad by the arm and led her away. Saliman followed them, Hekibel trailing him, staring curiously at Maerad. She thought the other girl quite lovely, if dressed a little wantonly. From all she had heard of Maerad, she had expected a young, shy girl, and was surprised to find this woman who moved with provocative grace, like she own half the place. Hekibel considered her as they navigated the many halls to find their respective rooms.

At the door, Saliman looked sheepishly between them. "As much as I would love to sit with you a while and speak, I am too tired for it. A bath and bed are first and foremost on my mind, perhaps I can wash away this war."

Cadvan smiled ruefully. "Tomorrow we'll speak. For now, I couldn't agree more, a bath and bed."

Cadvan bowed his head slightly and turned away, holding the door to his room wide for Maerad. Saliman led Hekibel a short way down the hall to his rooms. Hekibel checked on the threshold, shocked to find handsome, spacious rooms, decorated in thick rugs, cushioned chairs and low tables laid with books. Someone had come in earlier and lit a fire, for the hearth popped and crackled merrily, throwing its light on a table set with a spread of bread and meat. Hekibel entered slowly, waiting for something terrible like a Hull to emerge. Saliman shut the door, testing the lock before turning to the room and heading for the food.

"It's rather extravagant, embarrassingly so, really. But the Dark ever was excessive and gluttonous." He tossed his stained cloak on a chair and dropped to the couch, taking a slice of bread and buttering it. "You should make yourself at home. I'm afraid I don't have anything for you to wear…Tomorrow we can find some servant or something to send for clothes." He tried, and failed, to smile, and finally said, "You'll be safe here."

Hekibel joined him, sinking slowly onto the couch and hooking her arm through his. "This is strange place, I don't like it. I thought the Hulls were bad but…but that _man-_"

"The Nameless One is not a man," Saliman said sharply. "Not anymore. He's a monster in his own right now."

"I don't like the way he looks at things, like he's hungry. It almost reminds me of men when they leer at you, you know?" She made an inarticulate gesture with her hands. "I can't explain it, but it just feels like he's one breath away from devouring you."

"That seems right," agreed Saliman.

"What's going to happen to Malgorn? He was kind to me when I came to Innail."

"He isn't going to be killed, if that's what you're wondering," Saliman said quickly. "But he will become like me and Cadvan. It's better you don't see it, it can be hard to watch."

Hekibel mulled this over. "I'm surprised the Nameless One let you go so easily, I thought you and Cadvan were special to him?"

"He didn't let us go, and I was loathe to leave Hem with him," Saliman said slowly. "I'm sure in a few days, when he's done with the First Bards, he'll call for me. And you will _not_ come."

"But Saliman-"

"No, you'll stay with Maerad where it's safe."

Hekibel looked away, resisting the urge to argue, and said, "I was surprised to see that girl was Maerad. She was different than what I expected."

Saliman glanced at her quickly. "How do you mean? She doesn't favor her father, like Hem, but she's very much like Milana."

"It's nothing like that. Everything you and Cadvan and Silvia said…I just expected a shy young woman, maybe someone a little awkward or uncertain."

"You didn't find her so?" Saliman asked, confused. She had seemed little changed to him.

"I certainly understand why Cadvan was taken with her," she laughed. "She has the look of a woman who would inspire desire in a man."

Saliman blinked. "Whatever do you mean?"

"Did you not notice?" Hekibel asked baldly. When Saliman continued to stare, Hekibel tried to find the words to describe what she had seen. "She's very beautiful, very..." It seemed inappropriate to call her sensual, and finished rather lamely, "She moves like a woman who is sure of herself."

Saliman flashed a true smile. "I will have to ask Cadvan about these things."

"You'll do no such thing," Hekibel said sternly. "I won't have you asking after other women."

"Ah, but now you've piqued my interest. How can I not?" But when Hekibel continued to glower playfully, he threw up his hands in defeat. "Mercy, Hekibel, please? I swear I will have eyes or thoughts for no other woman but you. Maerad can be as sure of herself as she likes, for there can be no one I am surer of than you."

"Pretty," Hekibel sniffed delicately. "You say there is a bath?"

"Perhaps even large enough for us both."

"It will have to do. I am as tired as you look, and a bath and bed sound lovely."

Saliman stood, holding out his hand to her. "And never more lovely than with you in them."

* * *

Maerad tipped a bottle of lavender into the steaming bathtub and inhaled the relaxing aroma. She thought a moment, watching the water ripple, then returned to the cabinet and dug around until she found chamomile and added a few drops. She turned to rifle through a shelf of towels, shaking one out and heading for the hearth in the common room.

"Cadvan, I've run a bath for you, get in before it cools." She pushed a chair close to the fire and draped the towel over it.

Cadvan was leaning against the doorframe of his bedroom, watching Maerad work and admiring the domestic image she presented. He was reminded of his own people, simple folk who ran a house and tended their small gardens and weren't caught up in the affairs of great wars. He thought for a brief moment how much he would have liked to build a home for her, take care of her, love her like a country wife. She straightened up, sensing Cadvan's eyes on her, and cast a glance at him over her shoulder.

"Cadvan," she said softly, a genuine smile pulling up the corners of her lips. "Watching me warm a towel won't get you cleaner any faster."

He held up his hands in defense. "Forgive me, mistress, I am loathe to leave you here."

Before, Maerad would have laughed and shooed him away, but after months with Lyla, she viewed conversation through the lens of a proper mistress. "I will join you, have no fear. Someone will have to make sure you don't fall asleep and drown." Cadvan's eyebrows shot up, but Maerad quickly said, "Silvia sat with me the first night I was in Innail, and thank the Light she did, I almost fell asleep in the tub."

Cadvan took a moment to assess his own state. He did feel properly exhausted, ready to fall over on his feet, but he didn't want to make Maerad uncomfortable. "I'll heed your gentle tyranny and take myself to the bath."

"I'll be their shortly," Maerad rejoined, and watched him closely as he crossed the room to the bath. She waited until the door was shut before taking a deep breath and giving herself a shake.

_Don't be a coward, it's just a bath. You're not getting in the water with him! _she ordered herself. _If Lyla can do this, I can. _But then, Lyla was beautiful and charming and practiced, and Maerad had lived most her life in fear of men. She gave Cadvan time, picking over the tray of food, selecting delicate white cheeses and cool cuts of meat, and brushing off a bottle of rich, red wine. She teetered to the bath, balancing food and drink in her arms and cracked the door open a little, letting Cadvan know she was there.

"Not dead then?" she asked when she heard splashing and backed into the room.

_He's already seen you naked, idiot, stop blushing. _His back was to her, his arms resting on the sides of the tub sunk into the floor, and from the door, Maerad could see the bruises and scars that decorated his shoulders and back. His hair was damp, he must have submerged himself as soon as he'd gotten in, and small rivulets ran down his neck and shoulders, and Maerad had to suppress the urge to trace their path. She approached the bath slowly, making sure Cadvan heard her, and was relieved to see that he was sunk fully into the bath so bubbles obscured everything below his waist.

"Is the water to your liking?" she asked politely.

Cadvan turned slowly to look up at her and it was the first time since they were reunited that he noticed her appearance. She was wearing a gown of dark red that fit her surprisingly curvaceous frame. The bodice was laced tightly, her hips rounded invitingly, and Cadvan had a sudden urge to take her by the waist and pull her onto his lap. It was cut low so the halfmoon globes of her breasts rose noticeably with each breath and exposed her long, pale throat where her nervous pulse throbbed. Her dark hair hung loose and long and framed her face and fell over shoulders to curl at her waist. She smiled playfully when she saw Cadvan studying her, and he thought with surprise that in three months she had grown into a sensuous woman.

"The oils are a nice touch, though I'm not surprised you thought to add them," he said, smiling crookedly.

She returned the smile and sank as gracefully as she could to the floor beside him. He watched her the entire time, pleased to see her uncork a bottle of wine and fill a glass. She proffered the glass. "I imagine you didn't get much wine on the journey?"

Cadvan thought briefly of the wine he'd had with Likud, the wine distilled by Iris's father, and he wondered what had become of the girl. Had Likud already sold her off to a Grin? Certainly, if she was of the Gift, he'd have to keep her in Dagra with the rest of the Bards? "Little and of poor fare. I found the company ruined the taste."

Maerad watched Cadvan drink, acutely aware that he was quite naked beside her. She was overcome with a sudden memory of Lyla showing her an image of a man and woman making love, the woman seated on the man's lap. She ducked her face and focused on arranging food on a plate so Cadvan wouldn't see her blush, but the thought lingered and she wondered what it would be like. When she looked back up, Cadvan was looking with determined interest at the images that decorated the walls.

"I wonder that the Nameless One chose to retain the art from his people. See the geometric patterns on the wall? They make a radiating sun. This is the stuff of his people from another age, no one alive today save us has seen its likeness. It's passing strange to think that the Nameless One is three thousand years old, his memories of Bards stretch back longer than anyone else. It's strange that he alone has had the fortune to see the passage of time and the history of our people. Or, maybe ironic, because he hated it all."

There was a wistfulness in Cadvan's voice that stirred Maerad from her thoughts. "I never really think of Sharma as having a love for art or history."

"No, neither do I. But think. He is the only man alive today who saw the wonders of Afinil. I wonder if, locked in his bitter, dark memories, are secrets of our people lost to time. Imagine what he could tell us."

Maerad studied the pattern on the wall again. "I think he has forgotten such things."

"But has he? He must have ordered the bath to be decorated in such a fashion. Does a part of him still exist that yearns for life?" Cadvan gave himself a shake, laughing hollowly. "Forgive my nonsense, Maerad, it is pointless to wonder if the Nameless One still admires art."

Maerad shrugged. "It's not pointless. It just leaves a strange feeling in my stomach. Someone could be so lucky as him to see the passage of ages of the world and be so small and petty that he wouldn't even marvel at its beauty. It makes me sad."

"Me too."

The conversation came a lull and Maerad cursed her ineptitude. Lyla had _said _not to discuss sad and dark things because it would ruin the mood. She offered the plate and Cadvan looked down at the arrangement, surprised.

"You're rather more attentive than usual," he remarked, not unkindly. Close to Maerad, it was hard not to see the rise and fall of her chest. He took a piece of bread and chewed it thoughtfully and was grateful when Maerad stood and moved to find a stool and cake of soap.

"Someone must take care of you," Maerad said airily. "You were only gone three months, but it looks like three years. How did you get so many bruises?" She set the stool behind him and sniffed the soap appreciatively.

"It was a war, Maerad, not a vacation." A thrill raced down Cadvan's back when he sensed her so near him. Cadvan hadn't really known what to expect upon his return, and he feared that while he was gone, she would have been put to poor use. Maerad, though, seemed almost distractingly cheerful, if not distractingly beautiful. He certainly hadn't expected her to join him in the bath.

"Lean back," Maerad ordered gently, tapping his shoulder. Cadvan tipped his head back, wetting his hair again, and Maerad lathered the soap in her hands before running her fingers through his hair. Cadvan sighed contently as Maerad washed and rinsed the grime out of his hair, enjoying the sensation of her nearness, her oddly domestic behavior.

"If you got in bed beside me and I smelled your hair, I wouldn't be able to sleep for the smell," she said, and Cadvan could hear the smile in her voice. "You smell like horse."

"Darsor would take offense," Cadvan returned, took a deep breath when Maerad dunked his hair again, then said, "But you're not wrong, I slept in stables on the road."

"By choice?" she asked sharply.

Cadvan turned to face her, his smile like a razor. "Obviously not. But the Hulls didn't want Saliman and I about, and, in case you didn't notice, our friend Likud was overseeing my stay."

"I heard, but I wasn't sure I believed it," Maerad said in a hard voice. "How did he survive?"

"He slipped into the shadowplains, escaping the blast. He's not happy with you, though, and I warn you to stay away from him." Cadvan caught her eye. "I'm serious, Maerad. He gave me no end of trouble on the journey, but he remembers you. I don't want you anywhere near him."

Maerad sighed. "I have no love of Likud, and I imagine after our last encounter I'm not his favorite person, but if he comes searching for me-"

"Don't engage him. I made an oath for a reason, Maerad, to keep you safe." Cadvan settled back in the bath. "Please, Maerad, I've just gotten back from one war, I don't need to fight another one here."

Maerad rubbed sandalwood oil on her hands and began to rub Cadvan's shoulders. She could feel the muscles like a knot and used her thumbs to work them. Cadvan made a strange yelping noise when she got one loose. "Cadvan, I've faced Sharma and come out alive. There is nothing Likud can say or do that would give me cause to fight him." _Unless he attacked someone I loved, _she thought, eyeing Cadvan's injuries with chagrin.

"So be it," Cadvan said tiredly. The wine, food and bath conspired to make Cadvan drowsy. There seemed much more the two should have been saying, but for the life of him, he didn't have the energy to think about it. Besides, after months thinking about her, Maerad was suddenly at his side, touching him, laughing with him, so pleasing to look at in a red gown. He stretched lazily and thought longingly of his bed.

Maerad suspected that this lull in the conversation was what Lyla had meant as a signal for them both to retire, but she wasn't sure she was ready. She felt a stirring of trepidation. Would Cadvan, having been apart from her all this time, expect her to give herself to him? This thought was quickly followed with curiosity as to whether she _wanted _to make love. She missed him touching her, and she thought that now she knew a bit more than before, at least now she could navigate his body adeptly. She eyed the bottle of wine, thinking that a glass taken quickly would ease her nerves. Instead, she poured Cadvan another.

"You must be tired indeed if you have no long-winded reprimand for me," Maerad said easily. She went once more to the shelves and returned with a bowl, shaving soap, a brush and razor, holding them a little uncertainly. She'd only practiced the motions twice before with semi-willing participants in the brothel, but Lyla assured her it was a very intimate art that a man appreciated.

Cadvan's eyes widened when she produced the razor. "You know how to use that?"

Maerad gave him a haughty look. "I'll be gentle."

He stared at her a long moment, fighting back the exhaustion that was gripping him. It was Maerad, yes, but there was something strange about her. He felt like she was putting on a show, like she was trying to convey something to him without speaking. "Where did you learn to shave a man's face?" he asked slowly.

He saw, in an instant, the flash of guilt in her eyes: something she couldn't-or wouldn't-say lingered there. She lowered her gaze to the tools in her hand. "You were away for three months, I had to do something with my time."

Unbidden, the Nameless One's parting words came back to him: _By all means, Cadvan, go enjoy yourself. I trust Maerad will treat you well_. That had been a taunt, an unspoken joke, something had happened here but Cadvan didn't understand what. He stared at the razor that flashed in the low light. "Hem needed a shave?"

Maerad smiled despite herself. "Don't say that. My little brother is not old enough to be a man yet. I'd rather him stay young and small forever." She sank down to her knees, holding out the materials. "If you don't want me to, I will leave you to it. I suppose, after seeing me swing a sword, you have good reason not to trust me with a blade at your throat."

It was a smooth joke, and, for a moment, Cadvan relented. He took the razor, inspecting its edge, before handing it back to her. "Careful around my cheeks. I've already got enough scars there."

Maerad set to work carefully. She filled a small bowl with saving soap, twirling the brush in like a dancer while Cadvan finished his wine. She then ordered him to rest his head back on her lap and applied a generous coat to his cheeks and neck. She kept her eyes from his, sure that if she looked directly at him she'd lose her nerve, and tried to think of the men she'd practiced with. They hadn't been nearly as intimidating as Cadvan.

When she took the first stroke, her hand was steady and the shave smooth. She moved with practiced grace, shaving a line, wiping the soap and hairs on a towel, and repeating the process. Cadvan admired her openly, impressed by her acquired, if mysterious, ability. She finally paused, hovering the razor over his throat.

"Don't breathe," she murmured, and in one easy stroke, shaved his Adam's apple. She sat back, looking pleased.

Cadvan straightened up, feeling his face, before smiling recklessly at her. "Do I look like Cadvan now?"

Maerad laid the razor aside and took his face in her hands. "I don't think any amount of beard could confuse me. I'd recognize you anywhere." Then she leaned forward and kissed him luxuriously. Cadvan growled low in his throat, pleasantly surprised by her forthright behavior. She leaned forward, her arms resting on his shoulders, and Cadvan deepened the kiss. He only pulled away when Maerad was as risk of falling in the bath.

"I missed you so much, Cadvan," she said earnestly. "Every day, I was so alone, I hated my life here without you."

_Alone?_ Cadvan wondered, but the thought was driven from his mind when Maerad kissed his forehead and stood.

"You look in danger of falling asleep in the bath. I'll get you a towel then see you safely to bed." She gathered up what was left of the food and wine and left the bath. Cadvan watched her hips swing appreciatively as she went.

In the sitting room, Maerad poured out a full glass of wine and drank as quickly as she could, cringing at the burn of the tangy tannins. She debated a second glass, but she knew it would make her giddy, and returned to the bath with the fire-warmed towel, saying, "I'm going to see to the fire in the bedroom and the blankets warmed. Take your time."

In the bedroom, Maerad stoked up the small fire in the hearth, throwing rushes onto the logs so the room filled with an earthy smell that would hide the must of three months. She turned the blankets back invitingly, running her fingers over the soft sheets. The wine was stronger than she expected and she felt dizzy. She unlaced the gown with unsteady fingers, letting it fall in a pool at her feet, and found the trunk of her clothes sent up from the brothel. She slipped into a pale silken gown with small flower petals beaded into the neck and cuffs, breathing with relief as her body expanded without the corset. She caught a glimpse of her pale reflection in the dark window and found she didn't recognize herself.

"Have you seen a ghost?"

Maerad spun about and found Cadvan lounging in the door, tapping a staccato with a glass half full of wine against his leg. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled at the hungry look in his eyes, then he smiled sheepishly, and he looked like an innocent boy who didn't quite know what to say. She bowed her head.

"A ghost is the least of our worries in this place, think you not?"

"True enough." Cadvan slouched in, balancing the glass of wine on a small table, and noticed a fine layer of dust had settled on it. He sniffed the air, nose wrinkling at the overpowering smell of rushes. "I see you've kept this place fresh."

"I've kept it warm and comfortable." She gestured to the bed.

Cadvan blinked, trying to focus on anything but Maerad. There was too much dust, the sheets looked stiff…the room hadn't been slept in for weeks. And there was Maerad, looking small and pale, for all her acting as a woman. There was something wrong.

"A minute more than I'll gladly curl up in bed and sleep like the dead." Cadvan approached her calmly and she offered him a tight, nervous smile. "Maerad, when was the last time you slept here?"

She stared at him blankly. "What do you mean?"

"This place has been empty a while." Cadvan studied her closely. There seemed no diminution in her Light, but she was hiding from him. "Where have you been these past months?"

Maerad felt words surging up her throat-curtsey of Cadvan's Truthtelling Gift-but she pushed them back determinedly. "I've been in Dagra, just as Sharma promised, untouched and unharmed." She was obfuscating and she knew Cadvan sensed it, but she realized that she didn't want Cadvan to know where she had been. She knew she shouldn't take shame in it, but for some reason she felt guilty and shy.

Cadvan forced himself to clear his mind of the wine and lifted Maerad's chin up to look into his eyes. She held his gaze stubbornly. "But you haven't been here."

Maerad smiled ingratiatingly, mimicking one of Lyla's more charming behaviors and clasping his hand warmly in her own. Cadvan swallowed. "But I am unharmed, and I have missed you sorely since the day you left. Don't worry where I was sleeping each night, just know that I thought of you."

_That was well played, _Maerad thought proudly. _Lyla would have been proud of that._

Cadvan squeezed her hand tighter. The thought of her thinking of him was, admittedly, appealing, but he was more concerned with her safety than his desires. "Why won't you speak freely with me, Maerad?"

She turned away, pulling her hand free and holding herself tightly. "I do not want to ruin this night with sadness. I think we've had enough of that, don't you?"

Cadvan hesitated. She wasn't wrong. "I fear that you are in pain, and seeking to hide it from me for my own comfort brings me little joy. I would rather have your sorrow than an empty smile."

_You knew he wasn't like the men Lyla paraded around. He's far more introspective than that._ "I _am_ happy to see you. Believe me, Cadvan, after all this time, I have wanted nothing more than to have you back. This place is awful without you."

"Please, Maerad." Cadvan examined her back, the tension in her shoulders. "I fear that the Nameless One will use these secrets to his advantage. Like he did with my feelings for you."

Maerad blinked slowly. This was something she hadn't considered. Last time, Sharma's knowledge of their feelings had led to ruin. What would this do? She turned about to face him and Cadvan was surprised to see red splotches in her cheeks. She walked past him, picking up the half full glass of wine and took a long draw on it as she sat in one of the chairs arranged before the fire. She gestured vaguely to the chair opposite her, drawing her feet up protectively under her.

"It's not a long tale, but it is a tiring one." Cadvan joined her apprehensively. He noticed how white her fingers were from gripping the glass stem, and he fought down the urge to take her hands in his.

Maerad sighed. "It should come as no surprise that Sharma isn't happy with me and Hem. Even after the Singing, even after I gave him everything he wanted and was forced to serve you, he was furious. As soon as you and Saliman left, he came and found us in this very room. He told Hem and I that since we hadn't died, he would put us to the best use he could."

Cadvan thought of Hem, lying chained on the floor in the throne room. "And what use did he deem fit?"

"He wanted to shame us. He said he wanted history to remember that the House of Karn died in shame and humiliation. Hem, he's made into his…_jester_. It amuses him to make Hem sit by his side and watch the horrors of his reign. He thinks Hem's outbursts are funny. For me, he was particularly vindictive."

"He swore to me that he wouldn't harm you," Cadvan said tersely.

"And so he hasn't," Maerad answered swiftly. "But he has shamed me to no end. He said all the daughters of the House of Karn were whores. My mother lay with my father, who was of the Pilanel, and so brought shame on our house. And I," and here Maerad glanced up with an ironic smile, "I gave myself to a cobbler's son."

Cadvan's face had gone very still, but the corner of his face quirked up bitterly. "Well, it's not a lie."

Maerad laughed emptily. "I _told_ Sharma I wasn't your whore, but he said that I had sold myself to you. In exchange for your protection, I had obviously promised you my body in return. Whether or not we had lain together didn't matter, only that I had allowed myself to be bought." Maerad's hands clenched into fists. "He said I would have to go learn my trade so that when you returned, I could serve you properly."

"Your trade?" Cadvan demanded, fear stirring in his stomach.

"What else?" Maerad asked sharply. "He sent me to a brothel to be apprenticed to a whore. He wanted me to learn their skills. I've been there since you left."

Cadvan didn't speak, he didn't trust himself to. His first thought was to storm back to the throne room and attack the Nameless One. How dare he send Maerad to some whorehouse? Cadvan could feel himself shaking with rage but, logically, he also knew it was no use. He couldn't kill the Nameless One, no matter how much he longed to. He switched his gaze up and saw Maerad's pale face turned to look out the window. Brothels weren't common in Annar, Cadvan had never been to one, he had no idea what she might have seen or done. He wanted to gather her up in his arms and comfort her, and he wanted her to understand he didn't blame her.

"What happened?" he managed to ask when his temper was under control.

Maerad shrugged helplessly, smiling sadly at him. "Nothing untoward. Your oath was honored, and I am still a maid."

"I don't care about that." Cadvan shuddered angrily. "Maerad, you don't have to be a maid for me to love you-"

Maerad held up a hand. "I don't think you care, but I want you to understand that I wasn't harmed. I don't need you jumping to conclusions and doing something reckless that will get you hurt." She caught his eye. "It was a simple thing. I lived in the brothel, I learned the skills of a proper courtesan, and not just the…_bedroom_ ones. I can dance, and I can write stupid letters, I can walk about gracefully, I can even have witty conversation meant to entertain men." She titled her head to the side, considering all the things Lyla had taught her. "I learned how to shave a man's face, how to serve him food and drink with so much tact he thinks of nothing but me while he eats."

Cadvan chose to overlook her admission that she _had_ learned something about pleasing a man, and thought of her dressed in the daring, red gown, smiling at him, serving him food and wine and tending to his needs with exaggerated grace. She _had_ been acting, playing the role of dutiful mistress. That hurt a little.

_By the Light, is that what she thinks you want? _he asked himself unhappily. _She thought you wanted a beautiful version of her that would wait on you hand and foot. _

"I don't need those things," Cadvan said softly. "I want you as you are."

Maerad's twisted smile cut him to the quick. "I don't have a say in that. Sharma made quite clear that I will have to put my new knowledge to use. You might have noticed he keeps Hem close by?"

Cadvan frowned. "I don't need a mistress. I don't need you like-" he waved a hand at her flimsy nightgown "-like this. Do what you must in public, but for me, I don't want it. I just need you, Maerad."

She finished the wine, staring into the glass contemplatively. "You have me, but…but I also have to be this."

Cadvan put his face in his hands. "Maerad, know that I've loved you since-" _Since I saw you milking that cow and I've just been a blind idiot for the last year. _"Since the night on the White Owl. And know that the Nameless One might demand things of you, but I won't."

Maerad was watching Cadvan and felt a stab a surprise at his words. "Cadvan, I don't think that you would-you would make me do something I don't want. I trust you more than that."

He looked up at her, smiling sadly. "I have no idea what the Nameless One would have ordered you to do. If he sent you here to do something you don't want-as punishment-I won't have it." Cadvan's face was unmoving when he said, "I won't have you in my bed unwillingly."

"I wouldn't let you." Maerad's voice was sure, but she knew that if the Nameless One ordered her to it, she couldn't refuse. She set the glass aside and breathed out loudly. "Come, Cadvan, I'm tired of sad talk. I'm tired of everything. Let's go to bed." She stood and looked down on him imperiously, and he felt his lips quirk up at the small woman who looked at him with such authority and presence.

"I've been waiting months to hear that," Cadvan admitted.

Maerad moved smoothly across the room and crawled up onto the bed, pulling the covers over her. She watched Cadvan stand and stretch and fiddle with his shirt sleeves, purposefully taking time for her to get comfortable. When he came across the room, he grinned shyly, waiting by the edge of the bed.

"Get in," Maerad said, exasperated. "I suspect that we'll be up early tomorrow."

The bed enveloped Cadvan and he sank back on the pillows, relaxing for the first time in months. Beside him, the unmistakable presence of Maerad was overwhelming: the heat radiating off her, the sweet smell of her skin, the feel of her hair on his shoulder. He took her hair in his hand and began to meditatively wrap it around his finger.

"Maerad, I've had many dark nights since leaving you, but not a day has gone by without thinking of you." He turned to look at her and found that she was staring up at him, her blue eyes bright with some emotion he didn't quite understand. "I saw terrible things in Annar, and only thinking of your made it any better. I began to doubt in the Light, I wasn't sure until just now that it still existed."

_You must make your own Light. _Ardina's words rang in her mind, but they didn't bring her the warmth and hope she needed. It seemed to her there was a great struggle left and they had just barely begun. It scared her that already she and Cadvan and all their friends were pushed to the brink, and so much more would be expected of them.

"I think we must remind ourselves that the Light still exists. This Darkness will pass."

Cadvan's arm came up slowly, wrapping around her waist and pulling her against him. He closed his eyes, enjoying the feeling of her pressed against him for the first time in months. The knowledge that she was there, she was safe in his arms and she wasn't going anywhere was overwhelming. She was his. When he opened his eyes again, he saw that she had closed hers and tucked her face against his chest. Tonight, unlike their last night, she didn't remind Cadvan of Ardina, she didn't look like the moon-fae creature with vibrant eyes and a wild face. She looked like a young woman, innocent and vulnerable in her own flesh. While the former version of Maerad excited Cadvan, the latter was comforting and familiar.

_By the Light, this feels right, _Cadvan thought, rubbing her back. Maerad shifted in his arms, but he didn't loosen his grip. _I can't lose this again. _Cadvan rested his chin on the crown of her head and drifted off to the sleep with the sound of her heartbeat in his ears. Perhaps the worst had come and gone, perhaps he could spend the rest of his life like this.

* * *

Sharma watched Malgorn twitch on the floor, his pale skin made whiter by the cool, black stone beneath him. His breath came in harsh, short gasps. With a cry, he rolled onto his back and clutched his hair tightly. Like a curious child, Sharma's head tilted a little to the side; he blinked slowly. He had not meant to handle the Bard so cruelly, why he had not exerted himself any more than he had with Cadvan. Of course, that was before the Song.

"You would like it to end, yes, Malgorn?" he asked.

Malgorn had been rendered inarticulate from the pain of continued contact with Sharma's consciousness and instead uttered a guttural cry. Sharma wrinkled his nose in response. In his day, there was a deference due to your lord. In his day, slaves that didn't act with proper respect, even in extremity, were dealt with harshly.

"Malgorn, you must use your words. I cannot help me if you don't tell me what you need."

At the foot of his throne, Hem made a small, frustrated noise, and Sharma switched his gaze to the boy. He was staring out the window as if fascinated by the red sun rising on the horizon, but Sharma knew his attention was focused on Malgorn. He wasn't good at hiding his feelings, Sharma observed mildly, he lost his temper too easily, let his anger overpower him. He stared a little closer, admiring the stern jut of his chin.

_He'll look like Dorn when he comes to manhood, _Sharma thought. _If he comes to manhood at all. _

Sharma would have happily seen Hem and his sister dead, but now, cursed with their continued existence, he had no choice but to suffer his presence. He hoped that the boy might crack, lose his mind, but it seemed he kept most of his wits about himself. But, of course, Sharma knew he could do better: he could make Hem witness to far more horrible scenes than breaking Bard minds. If he could not kill Hem, then he would trample his innocence, destroy any feeble hopes the young man might have of the Light and truth and goodness in the world.

"Have you something to say, Cai?" Sharma asked politely.

"No," Hem said thickly.

"Come now, I see the anger in your eyes. You must find me monstrous, my methods atrocious. Speak, for it is your right as one of those who gave me the Song. Of all the Bards, you have been given leave to speak to me freely and know I will not kill you."

Hem drew his knees to his chest and rested his chin on them. "I've nothing to say to you. Do as you deem fit."

"Does it bother you to see how I treat these Bards?" Sharma waited, watching a muscle work in his jaw as Malgorn moaned. "Is it because you fear that Saliman's fate was much the same? It was, Cai. He lay on the floor in agony, begging for me to release him, hoping against hope that it would just end. You see, I saw his mind even then, I knew what he was thinking. Oh, he thought of Turbansk and its tumbled ruins, he thought of the pathetic woman whom he loved, and he thought of you. Part of him even hoped you could cure him. But you couldn't, could you?"

Hem lost his temper then, snapping around like a wounded dog. "I will! I haven't forced you out yet, but I swear on the Light that I will heal Saliman. You haven't won yet, Sharma!"

Sharma's eyebrows twitched together; Maerad and Hem were the only ones who insisted on calling him by his use-name and it irked him. "Bold words from a boy who's currently chained to my throne."

Hem's eyes flashed. "This isn't over, and you know it. You know the Song isn't yours yet."

Sharma's mocking smile dropped from his face, his eyes darkened. "Are you threatening me, boy? You dare think to turn my own magery against me?" Hem felt Sharma's anger like a physical force, bending his head forward into a bow. He grappled with it, but Sharma's will was stronger. "Shall I break your will in the old way? Shall I make you witness the horrors of my might, the most terrible things I can dream of, so that year after year you are ground down and forget even the word _Light_? Shall I make your life one long nightmare from which there is no reprieve?"

Hem, to his own horror and shame, was one his knees, bent double so that his nose brushed the floor at Sharma's feet. He tried to press back against the force, but it felt like trying to move a mountain-no, worse than a mountain-it felt like trying to turn the ocean tides by forcing the moon from her orbit. He tried to call on that inner fire that lingered in his blood, the same fire he'd called up to threaten the Hull, but he was screaming on deaf ears.

"I shall make you privy to all the most horrible punishments in my domain. You can be an audience for the most exclusive show." Sharma stood, examining the small patch of exposed skin at the back of Hem's neck, and thought how easy it would be to rip out his spine. The thought of Hem's vulnerability brough him immense pleasure.

Hem was visibly shaking with the effort of throwing off Sharma's will, but he couldn't move. After a moment, Sharma stamped his foot down and Hem felt a line of fire race down his back like he'd been whipped. He wanted to curl into a ball, but Sharma held him still. He brought his foot down again, and another red line of pain laced down his spine. Hem gave a sharp cry, his pain and confusion rendering him afraid. The third time Sharma's foot fell, Hem thought he felt something wet on his back. He continued to kneel, quaking in pain, and Sharma gestured for him to rise. Hem's face moved up, but the rest of his body remained kneeling on the ground.

"You will never speak to me like that again," Sharma said so softly Hem almost missed it. He drew a shallow breath but said nothing. "Say it, dog."

Hem felt his jaw moving against his will. "I won't speak to you like that again."

Sharma smiled graciously at him. "So, you can be taught. After what I saw in Saliman's mind, I feared it would be difficult to train you, but I see you are biddable in the right circumstances. This is a good lesson for you, Cai, obedience is a virtue."

The position Hem had been forced into bent his back at an odd angle and his muscles ached. He could see droplets of blood on the floor around him and his flesh felt torn, like some animal had raked claws down him. But he wouldn't beg for Sharma to release him. "Obedience should be earned."

"I couldn't agree more," Sharma said pleasantly. "Shall we begin your education in earnest now? I'm not half done with Malgorn, but his thrashing has torn his stitches. He'll injure himself and be utterly useless to me in the coming months. You're going to heal him for me so I can finish my work."

"I won't heal him just so you can torture him." The idea repulsed Hem, made him sick to his stomach.

"Yes, you will." Sharma turned and strolled away to stand over Malgorn, who was gasping for breath. He snapped his fingers and Malgorn's eyes opened, focused with strange intensity on Sharma. He began convulsing, pitiful little sounds escaping his locked jaw, and still his eyes were fixed on Sharma's hungry face. Hem saw that his body slid about in his own blood, all of his stitches were torn open, he must have been in terrible pain.

Sharma looked up at Hem, still kneeling at his throne. "If you don't, Malgorn's muscles will tear, his flesh will be flayed from his bones. He'll die a terrible, terrible death and I'll have to replace him with his wife, Silvia."

Through the pain and madness that had consumed him, that name meant something to Malgorn, and he groaned. Hem cringed at the sound, but he couldn't look away. Sharma curled his pointer finger at Hem, and Hem felt his legs jerk upright. He tottered on unwilling feet down the steps and to the middle of the room where Malgorn was. Up close, Hem saw the sweat on his face, flecks of vomit on his lips, he could smell blood and urine and something else that left a bad taste in his mouth-fear.

He looked up pleadingly at Sharma. "Just leave him be."

"I need the First Bards, and as pitiful as he is, Malgorn is First Bard of Innail. I have to do this, I have to _know_ that the First Bards obey me. If he is not fit to bear the might of my will, he will be killed and a suitable replacement found."

Hem didn't know Silvia, though he knew Maerad loved her like a mother, and, by the desperate look in Malgorn's eyes, he didn't want his wife taking his place either. As much as Hem abhorred the idea of healing for the purpose of continued torture, this seemed the only choice. He knelt beside Malgorn and the other Bard held his gaze with fearful concentration. Hem grasped Malgorn's hand tightly.

"I'll need needle and gut and alcohol."

Sharma bowed his head sardonically. "Of course, Master Healer." He spun about and returned to his throne, intrigued by the young man's authority. Healing was of no interest to Sharma, but watching another work was fascinating: if a doctor could take pain away, then they knew how to give it as well.

"A painkiller would be useful as well," Hem said, levering Malgorn onto his stomach so he could inspect the torn stitches. A long silence stretched between them before Hem realized he had just asked _Sharma _for something to ease a man's pain. He could have laughed.

After a time, a servant appeared with the medical supplies and Sharma relaxed back on his throne.

"A needle and gut," he said. "You may begin."

Hem shuddered at those words. To him, they sounded like nothing so much as a threat, a promise of torments to come. Still holding Malgorn's hand tightly, Hem bowed over his body and began his work under the light of the red sun.

* * *

End of Part One

Part Two will continue in A Season in Hell


End file.
